The Tarnished Throne
by AlexaStormborn
Summary: Rayla, daughter of the late Queen Sparrow, has taken over the throne of Albion. The Kingdom lies on the brink of a war. The only one to stand in the way of the Darkness is one woman, and perhaps a rather unlikely ally. The choices that need to be made, aren't always easy, but then that's what he's there for... Would the defeat of the Crawler be the end? Rated M for some chapters!
1. Choices

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though. The following story does not necessarily follow the main story plot lines of the games, but I try to stay somewhat true to the Fable universe and characters' basic personalities._

**Author's Note: Having replayed Fable 3 some time ago, made me really want to write a Reaver & Princess story, especially since the game is cruel enough to allow us little to no real interaction with Reaver. The characters of the game are rich in back stories and many possibilities towards their futures. The Fable universe being centered on choices, makes every play-through a rather unique experience from person to person.**

**Hope you all enjoy it, and please, Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, I'd love to hear from you.**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE:**

_**CHOICES**_

* * *

Rayla stared down at her hands—they were bloodstained yet again. The crisp smell of broken pine needles sharply stung her nose and she tried hard not to flare her

nostrils angrily in response. There was a slight breeze that whipped at her blood smeared clothing and it was rapidly getting dark.

Night was settling in, and that didn't always prove to be a good thing in the woods of Silverpines.

She quietly tried to make her way back towards the little village nestled in the midst of the forest. It seemed to be the only haven that there was for a quick rest to recover her strength so that she could teleport back to the Sanctuary.

She was exhausted. She had been fighting numerous groups of balverines in an attempt to help the people of the little hamlet out. Due to the huge and frequent amount of balverines that infested the area, shipments of supplies and traders willing to brave the forest road was becoming more and more slim. The Hero in her had refused to stand idly by.

There was something else which made her stray so far away from comfort and company though—her brother, the former King Logan.

She knew that now that she had been made the queen she would need to pass judgment. She wasn't fond of the idea at all over what awaited her back at the castle. She had hurriedly accepted a letter from the alderman of the little village in an attempt to escape needing to immediately decide on her brother's fate.

He had done terrible things. The people had cowered in fear and hatred while he had reigned, but all of that seemed over now that she had taken the throne. After having witnessed some of the things she had in her adventures and the times she had meddled into the lives of some of the citizens, she could almost understand why her brother had such a cold demeanor about him at times.

The day when he had forced her to choose between the leaders of a riot and Elliot, her childhood sweetheart, she had promised him that she would never forgive him—she had lied.

Her brother had done all of the things he did in an attempt to ready his kingdom for a deadly enemy that was soon to be approaching. He had told her all about the things that had happened when he had travelled to Aurora and of everything that had transpired after his return.

It had started to make sense and she could no longer blame her brother. The people cried out for his blood and this angered her to no end. Yes, Logan had been cruel, but he had had reason—and he was her brother. She would not execute him for just the pleasure of the impoverished people.

Rayla ran a shaky hand through her dark brown hair which by now surely appeared as disheveled as she felt. Her bright blue eyes scanned the dark corners of the forest carefully as she made her way back into the little village to the tiny house she owned there.

She sighed a soft sigh of relief as she entered the village. The alderman, who had been awaiting her return, thanked her deeply for her help. She hardly paid attention to his words before making her way over to her little house.

She needed some sleep, badly. She needed a bath even more and clean clothes. Distaste curled at the corners of her mind as she sunk down onto the meager bed in the tiny house she owned—she knew she would get nothing but the sleep there.

Sighing once more, she closed her eyes to let unconsciousness take her and her worries. Tomorrow she would need to make her judgment, and she had already made up her mind.

* * *

"All hail Her Majesty, Rayla, the Queen of Albion!" Walter announced.

The queen walked up the steps to her throne slowly. She wasn't happy about what was about to transpire at all. Holding back a sigh of frustration, she promptly sat down on the throne and cast her weary gaze to her brother as the guards dragged him before her.

The majority of the people gathered in her throne room were of the lower classes—the ones who hated her brother most intimately. This was not going to go well.

"Sister, I have explained my actions to you in detail. You now have the power over life and death. It is your turn to choose," Logan said, a desperate edge to his voice.

"This man, doesn't deserve to live. Not after what he has done to the people, Your Majesty," Page cried out. She was all but completely rapt with pleasure at the idea of being rid of Logan. Rayla hated her a little bit for that immediately.

"He killed Major Swift! I agree with Page," Ben Finn voiced, giving Page an appreciative look. He too, promptly wound up on the queen's list of dislike.

"Your Highness, these people all have points, but he remains your brother and the choice is up to you alone. What will you do?" Walter added.

"My brother shall live," Rayla paused for the cries of rage and disagreement to die down before continuing, "I need you now brother, this kingdom still needs you. We have a threat that looms over our head and none of us can just sit idly by."

"Thank you, sister. You can have the throne and the castle, I'm glad to be rid of them actually," Logan murmured, relief spreading across his face.

Page let loose some snarl of disapproval, her dark eyes trailing over Logan and coming to rest at the queen. "This is a mistake, Your Majesty. It will also be one that you regret. The people are already losing faith in you at this display."

Rayla sighed audibly as she looked over at Page's scowling face. "Leave, my decision is final."

She watched as Walter ordered the people out of the throne room, keeping a particularly close watch on Page as she left the room. She had a feeling that the trouble there was only starting to brew, and that much more would come to pass before she saw the end of it.

She rose and made her way over to the Royal Treasury. Hobson—the aptly named, round, disgusting, little man—had expressed a wish earlier that morning to talk to her about the taxes.

Having reached the Treasure Room and quietly listened to the man ramble on about things for a while, she decided to keep taxes the way her brother had had them. To lower the taxes would put her in a more difficult monetary situation, and to raise them—after already having paid the people no mind and sparing her brother—would possibly bring about a riot in the streets.

Hobson nodded and made a few more comments that fell deafly on her ears, before he pulled out the schedule to check what would be required the next day.

"Your Majesty," he said, shifting from one foot to the other, "tomorrow you will be required to make a trip down into Bowerstone Industrial. There is a dispute that will need to be settled between Page and Mister Reaver."

Hearing Reaver's name drew her attention quickly and her mind was flooded with memories of when she had last seen him. The way he didn't even seem to need to aim to perfectly hit his target, the way he could casually evade a bullet with a flick of his cane or a dodge to the side with his feet. He was unnaturally skillful with a pistol and his skill at evading was more than any normal person could dream of accomplishing. He was different. She didn't know how yet, but she would find out. She decided to spend the rest of the day doing just that.


	2. Decisions

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though. The following story does not necessarily follow the main story plot lines of the games, but I try to stay somewhat true to the Fable universe and characters' basic personalities._

******Author's Note**: Here's chapter 2. 

**Warning: **Adult Content. There's a little bit of lime at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO:**

_**DECISIONS**_

* * *

Heaving an audible sigh, Rayla set the book down on the little table next to her bed. Her search for finding out the mysteries about Reaver had fallen short.

She had indeed found some mentions of a certain man, from quite some years ago—in her mother's time as a Hero to be exact—who had been exceptionally talented with ranged weapons. The Hero of Skill. The man had to be dead already, all those from the time when her mother had been a Hero were long gone and dead.

She mulled her findings around in her head a little longer. No, there was no way that he could be the person mentioned in the stories. Her mother seemed to want to mention the Hero of Skill as little as she possibly could, that alone seemed to match rather well with her understanding of Reaver.

What did not match were names, for none were listed for the Hero of Skill, and it was too long ago for the person to still be alive. Reaver could be no older than 30, and she herself was 22 years of age, therefore it made little sense for it to be the same man. To add to her frustration, Theresa—the blinded seer of the Spire—had told her that she was the only Hero left when they had first met.

She climbed out of the bed slowly, walking over to her armoire and selected a less monarchly outfit to wear for the day. She was not required to hold court today. She would instead be heading right down to one of Reaver's factories for the meeting with him and Page.

She carefully slipped out of the robe she was wearing, having already bathed a little earlier in the morning, and pulled on the long red and black striped stockings. She pulled the short red shorts on over them and slipped her feet into the pair of heeled, red slippers afterwards. She selected an off-shoulder, red and white blouse, trimmed in gold and glared at the light red corset she pulled out after it. A knock to the door, drew her attention.

"Your Majesty," a young woman called, "I'm here to help you get dressed."

"Enter," Rayla called to her servant and ducked behind a silk draping that flowed down from one of her bed's posts.

The servant entered quickly and closed the door behind her, shutting the view from the guards who stood guard at the queen's bedroom.

Rayla grumbled a little as she took a hold of the post, reading herself for the servant to help her with the corset. Discomfort was a rather light word for how she felt as the maid tightened the laces to the corset and the breath was knocked from her lungs.

Once the servant was done, the queen bid her to leave and pulled her blouse on quickly after the girl had gone. She fixed her hair up into a neat bun and placed the crown onto her head. Its golden color glimmered gently as it rested in the dark, brown hair.

Happy with her ensemble, she grabbed a pistol from the desk that stood in the corner of her room and a sword from a rack by the window. She stowed each of these at her sides as she walked out the doors of her room, nodding slightly to the guards, she headed down the stairs.

* * *

Rayla gently tucked a piece of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, as the wind blew while she walked to Bowerstone Industrial, back behind her ear. Taking a carriage and guards would have drawn even more attention to her than the crown that sat on her head, and so she walked.

Rounding a corner and approaching the factory, she was able to immediately catch a sight of Reaver's tall, lean form, the overly tall top hat notwithstanding. Page stood a short distance away from him and the two were absolutely livid at each other as they argued and glared daggers.

Reaver had one hand edging into the inside of his coat and Page looked about ready to jump and strangle the man much taller than she was. Rayla quickly made her way over to them before the situation could turn into a public spectacle.

Reaver's eyes immediately caught her and his trademark grin crept onto his face as he slowly pulled his hand back out of his coat. She wondered if he kept a spare pistol in there.

He gave a slight bow to his monarch, if one could call it that, with his tall form it seemed more like a muscle twitch.

"Your Majesty," he drawled lazily, "I am most grateful that you could join us. It is such a welcome distraction from this annoying, sewer-smelling creature next to me." He looked over at Page again and distaste wrote itself clearly over his face.

"You look quite ravishing, Your Majesty," Reaver said as his gaze returned to his monarch, eyes trailing shamelessly over her body.

"Oh shut up, Reaver," Page whined as she cast the man another dark glare.

Reaver positively huffed, tapping his cane against the gravel in annoyance. "I was paying Her Majesty a compliment. So, no, you be quiet instead you jealous, little sewer rat."

Rayla tried not to look defeated as she watched the two's dislike for each other. This was definitely not going to end well at all.

"Your Majesty," Reaver continued, "I know that the kingdom is in dire need for better finances. I shall most certainly do what I can to help with this. My factories are working around the clock to bring money into the kingdom, but we could always use more hands to help in that process. I propose we-".

"Child labor, Your Majesty!" Page cried out in disgust. "He wants to reinstate Child Labor!"

"Well, yes," Reaver replied, looking at her in even more distaste than before for interrupting him, "I do propose we bring it back. What else is there to do with the little mites?"

Page took a step towards the queen. "Majesty, open a school. It is our duty to educate our children. They are the future of our kingdom. You owe this to your people!"

"What a waste of sorely needed finances," Reaver sighed. "Your brain really is filled with dung, little sewer rat."

Rayla gave him a disapproving look which he only returned with another striking smirk. She looked over to Page, back at Reaver and then to Page again. This would take a lot of discretion on her part.

"Reaver, we need to have a talk. Page, please excuse us for a moment."

"Oh, why certainly, Your Majesty!" Reaver beamed as he took off after the queen, giving the stunned Page another nasty smile.

Once they reached a secluded spot, hidden by some crates near a wall, Rayla turned her attention to Reaver.

He still towered over her, even with her being quite taller than most women. He looked rather smug as he surveyed her, his eyes resting a little longer than they should on certain assets she possessed.

Reaver casually brushed some dirt off of the white coat he wore, before resting both his hands on the top of his cane as he waited for the queen to speak.

Rayla tore her eyes away from Reaver for a moment before looking him back in the eyes. "I need to talk with you, Reaver. Though I cannot trust that we can speak freely here, without being spied upon. I will postpone my judgment for today so that we may return to the castle where we can speak without worry."

"Oh, very well, Your Majesty," Reaver murmured, pulling out a silver case embellished with gold from his pocket and taking out a cigarette, which he promptly stuck between his lips and lit.

Rayla pushed herself past him, accidentally brushing against his side with the limited amount of space she had to move in. She tried to ignore the now smoldering gaze that was burning her backside as she hurriedly made her way back to Page.

Looking at Page and the people who were gathered in turn, she raised her hands to quieten them before addressing them.

"I regret to inform you all, that will not be able to make my decision today. Some urgent matters have come up and they require my immediate attention. As for this matter, it also requires me to think it over a little before I can decide. I am truly sorry for all who came to witness this today, but for the best interest of my kingdom and my people, I cannot rule out good judgment for a quick decision."

As the people started to dissipate, Page looked rather disapprovingly at the queen, before taking her leave as well.

"Well then, Reaver, let us get back to the castle," the queen said, turning on her heel and starting to walk towards Bowerstone Market.

A strong, gloved hand stopped her in her tracks. "Your Majesty," Reaver drawled, "I daresay, this breeze will do no good for our appearances. Let us instead take my carriage back to the castle. It is after all, rather safer for royalty to use than walking, after what has happened here today."

Rayla sighed softly in defeat, before following Reaver to his carriage.

Reaver tapped his cane loudly on the gravel and the driver jumped to attention. Reaver gave the quivering man a rather direct look that bespoke volumes of his irritation, before opening the door for the queen to enter.

Rayla climbed inside, watching Reaver glare a moment longer at the driver before announcing their destination and getting into the carriage himself. He closed the door behind him with a decided snap.

"I do so detest people who sleep on the job," he grumbled, tossing the stump of his finished cigarette out the window, and straightened himself on the seat opposite the queen.

"I see that," was all that Rayla replied, before busying herself with looking outside the carriage windows.

The ride to the castle was thankfully quiet, Reaver having kept himself occupied with reading through some letters. Once the carriage had stopped in front of the castle, the queen was out of it before Reaver even had time to open the door for her. Being trapped in an enclosed space with him was affecting her in an odd way, but she refused to let him know that.

"This way," she said as Reaver elegantly climbed down the steps of the carriage, cane in hand. She led him up the staircase towards her bedroom—the one place she was sure she would not be disturbed.

She ordered the guards at the door to relocate further down the hall and see to it that there were no interferences.

Entering the room after her, Reaver made a soft tutting sound. "Why, my sweet, I never took you to be such a devious little thing. Leading me up here to your bedroom of all places!"

He looked positively delighted at the prospect of being inside the queen's bedroom and Rayla had a sliver of doubt creep inside her.

"Stop it, Reaver. You may help yourself to a seat and something to drink, that is all," she said, giving him a stern look.

He merely grinned before sitting down in one of the chairs by a little table in the room and took off his hat. His dark, black-brown hair didn't seem worse for wear as another's would have looked from wearing a hat so long, instead remaining perfectly as it had been styled.

Rayla turned away from the man and walked in behind the dressing screen as he started pouring a clear, brown liquid from a crystal decanter into two separate glasses.

Rayla slowly started to unbutton the blouse that she wore behind the screen. "Reaver, a great threat is coming to our kingdom. Our kingdom that has already fared somewhat poorly, I should say. Having been in rule under my brother, the people have become hateful and fearful, and in the end that is what allowed me to take over the throne."

Reaver seemed to be quietly listening to her words, as she had yet to hear him complain or add something. So she continued. "Therefore I need to be rather careful in how I decide to run this kingdom, but I cannot be a fool and take all the ways that the people would want me to take. If I do, none of us will survive very long once the Crawler comes to engulf our kingdom. And so we come to it, that... therefore, I need your," she peeked her head around the screen only to find him gone. The chair was empty but for his discarded coat and cane. His gloves lay on the table next to the glass he had been drinking from.

The queen gasped in shock as a pair of lean, strong hands rested themselves on her shoulders and a hard chest pressed against her back.

"Advice. Therefore, you need my advice in making decisions that can save the kingdom," Reaver said, his warm breath brushing against her ear. She could smell the spicy cologne he used, the tobacco and brandy on his tongue.

She shivered as he traced his now bare fingers along her shoulders and arms. "Uh... yes, I need your ad-advice," the queen stammered a little.

Reaver didn't move away from the queen or stop the trailing of his fingers as he leaned down to breathe against her neck. "And there are so many things that I could advise you in, my pet."

The queen deftly turned around in his grasp and stared up at him. Her eyes lingered for a moment over the perfectly penciled heart-shape that concealed the beauty mark on his upper left cheekbone and trailed them up further to find his hazel eyes blazing.

This might not have been as good an idea as it had previously seemed to her. She tried to take a step backwards, away from him, but his grip on her only tightened as he pulled her flush against his chest. She tried to struggle, but he was much stronger than she had anticipated. Where did he get such strength from?

"Reaver, let-".

Her words were cut off by his lips pressing against hers. They were warm and soft, unlike the searing kiss that he was giving her. She could feel his tongue temptingly trail over her bottom lip, pressing against it for access.

Quivering beneath his searching hands, Rayla parted her lips for him to explore more deeply in the kiss. After a while, he pulled back from the kiss, leaving her panting for breath—and most importantly—wanting more. He was definitely an excellent kisser, bad person or not.

"I dare say, my sweet," he stated huskily, "that this seems to be heading in a most delightful direction." As if to emphasize his words, his hands slid up the backs of her stockings and to her behind as he lifted her up against him.

Still too lost in a moment of indecision and need, the queen wrapped her legs around his waist while her fingers slid up into his hair. The dark locks were soft as silk between her fingers.

The queen hardly had a moment to really appreciate it, before his mouth once again attacked hers with a fervent need. She leant into the kiss immediately, caught up in the moment of passion.

She felt the soft brush of sheets against her back, Reaver having laid her down on the bed, pinning her beneath him while continuing his assault on her lips. Finally, breaking free from his lips and tongue, she had to gasp for air, which her lungs desperately craved now.

"R-Rea-Reaver..." she panted, "what are you doing?" Looking up at those eyes of his, burning with desire, she was quite sure of what he was up to, but she had to hear it from him.

"Why, my sweet," he breathed, "I am merely offering my queen a little bit of distraction. She seemed so very put off by the things happening in her kingdom."

Rayla narrowed her eyes at him, only to have him reply with a wide smirk. "Oh very well, I was trying to seduce my queen. I believe that I have succeeded."

Reaver was definitely a dangerous man, especially at the top of his game and the queen was unsure of how things would go if she allowed him to have his way, no matter how much she craved for him to touch her, to kiss her, to need her. Where did all of that even come from?

Deciding that the man could likely use a dose of his own medicine, her legs still wrapped around his waist, the queen teasingly ground up against him. She instantly felt him still above her, a soft groan escaping his lips as he pressed down against her.

The queen continued for a little while longer until she felt the hard evidence of her plan working before stopping up short. "I think it's time you take your leave, Reaver," she said, looking up at his suddenly stunned face and grinning widely. "Now, or I'll call the guards to take you out." She wasted no time in untangling her limbs from his.

A feral growl escaped him, but he controlled himself. "Well, aren't you quite the tease?" he growled, biting into the queen's shoulder a little, before lifting himself up from her and walking back over to his possessions.

Reaver pulled his coat back on, making sure to adjust his appearance carefully back into perfection in front of one of the full-length mirrors in the room. After seemingly satisfied with his looks, he placed his top hat back onto his head and pulled his gloves back on before picking up his cane.

"Well then, my sweet," he said, turning to gaze back at the queen who was still sitting on her bed, looking mildly in shock, "I shall have to be on my way now. I do believe not many are willing to put their backs into working at the factories today, figuring a ruling was supposed to be made. I shall need to bolster the work speed some if you wish to fill your coffers."

"I... Yes, I suppose so," Rayla murmured softly.

Reaver deftly strode back over to the queen and placed a kiss to her forehead. "There, there, Your Majesty. You are always more than welcome to visit me at my Mansion in Millfields. We could even take things a step further..."

Rayla glared up at the smug smirk that spread across his face. "Just. Go, Reaver."

"Whatever my Queen wishes," he replied, his smirk spreading to look even more smug. "Tatty-bye, my sweet!" he called with a curt wave as he left the room.

* * *

******Author's Note**:** The next chapter will have a decidedly frustrated and confused queen. Hope you all enjoy it, and please, Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, I'd love to hear from you.**


	3. Temptations

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though. The following story does not necessarily follow the main story plot lines of the games, but I try to stay somewhat true to the Fable universe and characters' basic personalities._

******Author's Note**:** Here's the rather lengthy chapter 3. Lemon right in the middle of it all. Enjoy, my sweets!**

_Special thanks to AngelaCM for helping me come up with the name for the poor fool serving as Reaver's new butler._

**Warning: **Adult Content. Happens after Rayla enters Reaver's Mansion, if it makes you uncomfortable, skip down to the last divider.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE:**

_**TEMPTATIONS**_

* * *

It had been a week already, since she had last seen Reaver. After the little occurrence in her bedroom, neither had spoken to or even glimpsed each other for that matter.

Rayla felt as if the whole ordeal was starting to drive her a little mad. She should have known to expect such from Reaver, but he had caught her unprepared. And now it seemed that he had decided to let her stew in her own juices for a bit.

She had grown rather more annoyed with every day that passed and no one seemed to be able to appease her or do anything properly for that matter.

The poor continued to whine about changes that needed to be made, the nobles complained like only they could, the servants slacked in their service, the army appeared less armed for battle, and her dog refused to stop her incessant barking at almost everyone.

"Ember! Be quiet will you!" Rayla growled at the dog after the seventh time that day that she had reacted to a maid with loud, raucous barking.

The Alsatian looked at her, tilting her head to one side and appeared to actually consider her options first, before she gave a soft whine and curled herself up at the queen's feet.

Rayla sighed and scratched gently behind the dog's ears. "What's wrong with us, girl?"

The dog merely gave a yawn in reply before laying her head back down onto its paws and closing her eyes.

"I don't think it's merely exhaustion, girl," Rayla murmured thoughtfully to her companion.

It was true, she did feel tired. Her nights of sleep were restless and she often got up from tossing and turning to sit instead by the window and sip a glass of scotch until she eventually got an hour or two's respite. Her mind was just so unbelievably busy of late. She was worried about her kingdom, she truly was. She often woke at nights, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat after living through nightmares about her kingdom's demise.

They were in dire need for finances and the military training of the army was dragging by slowly without enough funds. The economy seemed to be heading in a downward direction as well.

Central among these thoughts and worries was Reaver. For some reason the queen was unable to shake the man from her mind. He was a complication, and she absolutely detested complications, but she needed him.

Reaver was the head of all Industrial and a very direct link to the majority of nobles in her kingdom. His factories provided an assured trickle of gold into the Royal Treasury. She had often conceded that—even though his treatment of workers wasn't the best or most civil—he definitely had a mind built for business.

_'And a body.'_ Rayla couldn't help but grumble and run a hand through her now tangled brown locks. It seemed the man would simply not let her be at peace. She would need to do something about that soon.

A maid came hurrying over to her, her hands outstretched, clasping a letter. The queen delicately plucked the letter from the maid's hands and sent her back on her way.

The letter was from Page. Rayla didn't particularly feel like opening the letter, already dreading the contents—she had yet to give her decision on the child labor issue.

Tearing open the letter, her suspicions were confirmed. Page wanted an answer by tomorrow, she cited that the people were getting restless under the wait. The queen was quite sure that not only the people were restless over this matter as she judged Page's writing.

It seemed that a trip to Millfields was in order.

* * *

The wind whipped ferociously at the queen's clothes while the sky seemed to pour bucket after bucket of rain down. The weather had turned terrible very quickly.

Rayla was positively soaked, but the blood was washing off her clothing in the downpour. As usual of late, the woods near Millfields at night seemed to be infested with balverines about as much as in Silverpines.

The queen tried not to think about who everyone was that she had cut down, making her path towards Reaver's mansion. It had been revealed to her in the year prior that there was a bit of a secret society among the nobles—all of which were balverines—keeping their true identities hidden from other nobles.

In all rights, it would have likely been more proper for her to have merely summoned Reaver to court and remained in her castle, awaiting him. She could not wait, however. She had left a note detailing where she would be, just in case someone came looking for her in the morning and she hadn't made it back yet.

By the time she reached the entrance gates to Reaver's mansion, the rain had let up and was replaced by a frosty breeze. Her hair, now much drier, was quite windblown and tangled. She was sure she looked the least royal she had in a very long while.

Roughly a second after she had knocked on the large wooden doors at the entrance of the mansion, they swung open to reveal a rather twitchy-looking man.

"Oh... Oh! Your Majesty," the servant bowed, suddenly having realized who stood before him. "Do come in out of the weather."

The queen allowed herself to be ushered into the lavish mansion. Unlike the previous time she had been there, the mansion now appeared completely spotless. The floors shone enough to see your reflection, the carpets looked clean and plush, the tables were cleared but for their respective decorations and appeared polished to a shine.

She couldn't make out a speck of dust anywhere, unless she counted herself. The trip had dirtied her shoes quite horribly, she was still fairly wet and she wondered if she had some sticks and leaves stuck in her hair—she probably did.

"I'm here to see Mister Reaver," she told the servant while carefully wiping her boots on the rug by the door.

The servant seemed to hesitate a little bit, before nodding and beckoning for her to follow him.

As they walked up the stairs and through the mansion, she noticed that Reaver seemed to have had a few modifications done to the mansion.

After climbing another staircase, they stopped in front of a beautiful wooden door. The servant looked even more on edge than he had when she first appeared. He knocked at the door before speaking.

"Master Reaver. Sir...," the servant began, only to be cut short.

"Be OFF with you! I said I don't want to be disturbed!" an annoyed-sounding voice called from inside the room.

The servant seemed to shake with fear down to his very core. Rayla quietly dismissed the man before stepping forward and pushing the doors open. The room was slightly dark as she entered, but that wasn't what rooted her to her spot.

"Are you bloody DEAF!? You incompetent lout," a voice thundered, and she heard the click of a hammer being pulled back on a pistol.

For a split second there was silence as her eyes found Reaver and his found her. "Oh. Your Majesty, what a surprise this is!" He immediately sounded much more delighted than he had previously.

Still staring at the gun pointed at her, she pushed the doors closed behind her. Reaver was lounged in a chair by a table in a corner of the room, a half empty glass sitting before him, his coat draped over the back of the chair and his hat discarded on another chair closer to the window.

Striking a grin, he slowly lowered his Dragonstomper .48 and holstered it again. "You look positively terrible. May I inquire as to what befell you, Your Majesty?"

Rayla glared at the man, before walking towards him and placing herself down into one of the chairs by the table he was sitting at. She allowed her eyes to roam around the room. She had hoped that she would find Reaver in a study or living room, not his bedroom—which had apparently moved from the last one he had used.

"I was attacked by balverines on the way here, then it was like a waterfall erupted from the sky, then when that was over, the wind decided to have its turn."

Reaver smiled, unaffected, throughout her whole little tale. She did notice his eyes darting down and lingering a few times on where her clothes still plastered to certain parts of her body.

"Indeed, what terrible luck, my sweet. Now may I inquire as to what brings you here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The queen carefully got out of her seat and placed a letter on the table. It appeared a little soggy and Reaver eyed it skeptically.

"I came to deliver that," she said, taking a slow, tentative step towards him, "and to dispute its contents. Which could possibly take a while." Everything was going to go to hell now, but there was no stopping it.

Her lips touched his as she bent over him. He wasted no time in being surprised, instead pulling her instantly down onto his lap and returning her kiss with hunger. His hands slid under the wet clothing to her back, pressing her closer to him.

Pulling away from the kiss and allowing her to catch her breath, he smirked his trademark smirk, fingers gently rubbing at her back. "My, but you are freezing, my pet. I do think we shall have a most heated dispute to resolve that," he said, lifting her up with him as he got to his feet, his hands firmly placed on her behind.

He carried her off to the lavish bed with ease and promptly dropped her down on it. Her dirty boots were off her feet in the blink of an eye, followed by her jacket and pants. Left only in her underclothes and shirt, she could feel how plush the covers of the bed were, they felt a bit like heaven probably would.

Reaver's lips greedily took hers over again while his hands fisted in her shirt and she almost pulled away from the kiss when she heard the tearing of fabric, but he wouldn't let her.

Once the kiss ended, she allowed her fingers to work clumsily at the cravat while he took off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt, before finally helping her with it. Her fingers gently brushed over the exposed skin, slipping the shirt off his shoulders and letting it drop off the bed to join the pile of discarded clothing.

Rayla heard a soft thud as his boots fell to the ground, having been promptly kicked off, but her mind strayed as soon as his fingers started roaming everywhere again. His fingers slid back up behind her back, deftly unclasping and pulling off her brassiere. His fingers followed, tracing gently down her shoulders, back up her sides and to her now bared breasts.

"My," he murmured, giving her an appreciative and devious look, "you certainly are quite well endowed aren't you, my sweet."

Rayla gulped softly as she stared up at him. Reaver seemed to be drinking in every inch and contour of her upper body, staring particularly long at her breasts.

"Let's not pretend that I'm the first woman you've seen like this," she whispered, bringing her hands up to slightly cover her breasts.

Reaver's hands shot out to stop her and pin hers above her head. She could clearly see the undiluted need blazing in his eyes. "Oh, but I am not pretending anything, as far as I know there is no game that we are currently playing," he bent down to let his lips brush against her neck, "You simply are just exquisite, so don't you dare try to hide anything from me." He gave her entrapped wrists a firm squeeze to emphasize that he meant business.

Letting go of her wrists, he allowed his hands to find their way back to her breasts, which he now carefully took in his hands, gently kneading them. A satisfied grin spread itself across his lips as the queen gasped at his actions.

Reaver continued to make his way towards one of her breasts with his lips, placing a fiery trail of kisses over the skin.

Rayla quivered underneath him, and a traitorous moan escaped her as his lips closed around a nipple. His lips were soft and warm against her skin, the heat and moistness of his mouth thrilled her completely. While he continued to gently lather her left breast with attention from his mouth, he paid the other attention with his hand, his fingers gently rubbing a quickly hardening peak between them and drawing another gasp from her.

Rayla could almost feel him grinning in triumph against her skin, but she refused to let that distract her from all the things he was doing to her body.

He soon paid her right breast the same attention he had the left, kissing and sucking, his tongue flicking over the nipple and making her shiver beneath him. His hands found their way back down her sides, hooking his fingers beneath her underclothes and carefully wriggling them off and down her legs. These too ended up in the clothes pile without a second thought.

Rayla felt his fingers trace her thighs, slowly edging towards where her desire coiled itself—hot and wanting. Her lips parted and she closed her eyes as she felt one of his fingers, tentatively slip into her, clearly testing to see what reaction his actions had been having on her.

"Well now," he purred against her ribs, "it definitely seems that I've been having a most desirable effect on you, my sweet, but I'm afraid I'll need to ready you even more before the _pièce de résistance_. I am rather excellently endowed myself, and it would not suffice my needs to hurt you."

Rayla was about to give a reply, but it got cut off before it even formed on her lips as his kisses moved considerably lower. She arched her back, electricity crackling through her body as his tongue explored between her legs, hot and wet. He was extremely skilled—though she had never had a man do something like this to her before—she was quite sure that no other man would be able to make her feel just the same.

Moan after moan crossed her lips as he continued to lick and kiss, sucking at the delicate flesh and sliding a finger inside her, soon to be followed by another. It didn't take him long to find the perfect spot to pleasure her and he pumped his fingers in and out of her, relishing in the sounds of pleasure he drew from her.

He could feel her muscles tensing and continued to let his fingers slide in and out of her at a steady pace while her climax rocketed throughout her body. He lifted his head to watch her. Her lips were parted, her eyes shut tightly as she squirmed on the bed beneath him.

A flush of heat tinged her cheeks a lovely rosy color and spread out over her chest. He hadn't lied when he had told her that she was exquisite. Out of all the women he had ever had, she was by far the most lovely or desired.

An aching throb brought him out of his reverie. He wanted her, needed her, and he would have her. Now. He quickly unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off.

Rayla—having recovered from the ecstasy she had been in—allowed her fingers to trail up to his underwear, purposely brushing against the throbbing, hard bulge that was constrained inside. She smiled merrily when she heard a hiss of pleasure from him, one of his hands closing over hers and helping her to move hers in a gentle stroking motion.

She watched him intently, his eyes closing for a moment, his breathing becoming heavy. Her fingers quickly unlaced his underwear and she was pulling them off before he could even respond to the sudden lack of stimulation.

Opening his eyes to look at her, an almost pout on his lips, he helped her to completely remove his underwear before he crawled back onto the bed.

Rayla let out a soft gasp of shock, her eyes taking in the full length and girth of his erection. He had not been arrogant or lying when he had told her that he was very well endowed.

The blazing lust in his eyes softened for a moment as he took in her distress. "I shall try to be gentle," he promised, placing a kiss to her forehead, "but be brave, my sweet."

Reaver tenderly parted her legs, rising up onto his knees and pressing the tip against her entrance. His eyes locked onto hers as he slowly pushed inside, capturing her mouth with his and muffling the soft cry that was about to escape her lips.

He kissed her passionately, pausing for a moment to let her adjust, before carefully and slowly easing himself into her until their hips brushed against each other. A soft growl of pleasure escaped him, feeling how tight and hot she was around him.

It took a great deal of his control to pause again until she was ready for him to continue. Thankfully, it wasn't long before she ground her hips up against his, signaling that he could proceed.

A moan of pleasure escaped her lips as he carefully guided them into motion, his thrusts starting out slowly at first, giving her more time to adjust to his size, but gradually increasing in pace.

Her arms circled around his neck, pulling his head down so that she could kiss him, effectively cutting off more of the sounds his body elicited from her.

Rayla kissed him fiercely, enjoying the feeling of him being buried deeply inside her, fulfilling the aching need that had been plaguing her silently the past week. She wanted him, needed him, every bit of him and she couldn't brush the sensation of feeling complete as he filled her entirely.

Her fingers trailed up to bury themselves in his soft, dark hair while her body moved in rhythm with his like they were attuned to each other. She smiled as a groan of delight crossed his lips.

His hands continued a meticulous path of exploration over the bare skin that was so tempting underneath him, her gasps and cries of pleasure only egging him on more.

Her muscles clenched tightly around him as another orgasm ran through her and he very nearly lost control of himself and had to take a few deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. In his opinion, there was definitely nothing quite like a session in bed between two Heroes, not that she knew that about him.

Holding her close, he rolled onto his back, allowing her to straddle him. It didn't take her more than a guided movement or two before she was doing very well on her own. She moved just right and ground and circled her hips at all the right moments. It was pure bliss.

He allowed his eyes to drink in her beauty, her dark brown hair was damp and clinging to her face, her cheeks still flushed and rosy, her lips red and slightly swollen from the fervent kisses, her blue eyes clouded with desire, her perfect breasts heaving in rhythm to their lovemaking.

His fingers dug into her sides a little, as he helped to move her firmly up and down on him, his hips occasionally grinding up against her, trembling a little.

"Oh my..." Reaver breathed, his breathing ragged and uneven, "You really are lightning under the bed sheets."

He was fairly quickly becoming undone, but the night was long yet and as it persisted, she would discover that Reaver's stamina matched that of her Heroic body, if not even surpassing it.

Just one more thing to make her wonder about who he was.

* * *

Rayla woke, softly yawning, from her slumber. She felt content and rested, having slept soundly, eventually...

A strong arm was possessively draped around her, the hand firmly resting on her hip. She turned her gaze to trail over the lean, toned chest she was still snuggled up against, a finger gently tracing the path of the muscles.

"Well, good morning to you too, my sweet," Reaver's voice sounded a little husky, the slightest tint of sleep could be heard in it.

Rayla stilled the movement of her fingers, caught up in thought. Here she was, in Reaver's bed of all places and she couldn't help but wonder how many other women—or men—had woken up like this, next to him.

Sensing the lack of reply or movement, Reaver dipped a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him and breaking out of her reverie.

"Now what has your mind so distracted? It can't be just my gorgeous form or expertise in bed, now could it?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Rayla looked up at him, slightly annoyed. "I was wondering just how many other...people...have woken up next to you the mornings after, actually," she replied tartly.

He seemed amused for a second, the corners of his mouth quirking into a grin. "Just one...actually," he mocked the last word in the same tone she had used. "You."

The reply definitely surprised her and she gave him a quizzical look in return.

Sighing dramatically before casting her a smoldering gaze, he answered her unspoken question. "I don't let anyone stay long enough to have such an honor and no one seems willing enough to argue with that once I pick up my Dragonstomper."

Rayla couldn't help but feel a little thrilled as she heard this, a smile starting to tug at her lips. She had been the only one he had allowed to remain with him for the whole night. Her thrill was to be short-lived.

"Other than being exceptionally beautiful, and rather good in bed... You are still the queen, so just how would I have refused my liege?"

The smile dropped off her face as quickly as it had come and she cast him an irritated look. "You're an arse."

"Oh, I doubt that, but I do have a rather excellent one if you're interested in seeing, Your Majesty," Reaver replied, the grin on his face only widening.

He got out of bed and walked over to one of the armoires in the room. He seemed to walk with a little less grace then he usually did, apparently a little sore from the night's rigorous encounter.

Rayla grinned brightly at the way he walked and a soft laugh bubbled up from her lips.

Reaver shot her a withering look, before he plastered a smirk back onto his face, looking possibly more smug than she had ever seen him. "If this is how I wound up, I am very willing to bet that you're going to be so much worse, my sweet. Get up so we can see, then."

Rayla huffed at his words, but got out of bed nonetheless. That was a mistake. She was sore everywhere and walking felt particularly uncomfortable, even slightly painful. "Damn," she muttered, watching as Reaver nodded to himself, clearly pleased with the outcome.

"Yes, that's what I thought," he said smugly as he pulled on a shirt and started to button it. "Don't worry, my pet. I will make sure to escort you the whole day, it should help you look less awkward."

Reaver's smugness was starting to agitate her and she promptly grabbed the nearest thing to throw at him—which sadly, was a pillow. He aptly ducked out of the way, breezing over to her and pinning her back down onto the bed before she had time to react.

"Now, now, my sweet. Let's not have any of that, and as much as I would like to remain in bed with you and teach you a lesson about not throwing things around," he paused for a moment to let his teeth graze down her collarbone, "we are required to make an appearance at court and should not dally, lest we arrive late."

His eyes were burning, but he got up and walked over to the door—not even having bothered with pants—opening it a crack, and shouted out, "RUFUS! Bring me the parcel I had you fetch yesterday! NOW!"

Rayla heard a loud crash, hurried footsteps approaching, a murmured apology and then footsteps—even more hurried—fading away. Reaver backed away from the door, a large decorated box under his arm. He walked over to the queen and placed it beside her on the bed.

"I had thought to get you a gift which I planned to present you with at a later stage, but it seems now will have to do. You had best get dressed before I _do_ change my mind after all," he pointed to the box, before walking back to his armoire and selecting a pair of pants and a vest to wear.

Rayla curiously opened the box and emptied its contents. Inside was a beautiful black dress, trimmed in gold and decorated with gold and dark blue motifs. The skirt of the dress wasn't puffed out like the normal dresses the nobles wore, instead it appeared that it would fit snugly around her hips and flow elegantly downwards to her feet. The bodice sported delicate shoulders that would just barely cover hers, leaving her arms open—well one at least—looking at the lavishly decorated, black, sheer sari that accompanied it. The dress was also accompanied by a pair of delicate black slippers, decorated in gold, and sadly, a black corset.

She sighed, running a hand over the fabric of the dress. It felt marvelous! "Reaver, I need a maid to help me with this," she called, not turning to look at him.

"Why? I'm more skilled than any of the servants in the workings of corsets, I'll help you dress." He had finished with his whole ensemble, down to coat and boots, while she had admired the dress. Somehow he had also managed to do his hair and the heart-shape was penciled perfectly as usual upon his cheekbone.

Rayla was almost surprised to find that he was indeed very skilled with it, his hands moving deftly and with precision as he tightened the laces of the corset. It was the quickest she had ever been helped into a corset and she entertained the idea of keeping Reaver around merely for that.

Reaver helped her into the dress and just as quickly buttoned it for her, before helping her drape the sari around her body and letting it trail gracefully down one arm. She stepped into the slippers and he looked her over appreciatively.

"Hmm, I always knew I had excellent taste," he murmured to himself, "Now let's get something done about your hair, it's an absolute mess. I'll call a maid to help you while I have a carriage prepared for our departure." He quickly holstered his Dragonstomper and grabbed his walking stick and top hat on the way out.

After he left, Rayla walked over to a mirror and admired the dress on her. It was elegant and beautiful, so much unlike the dresses the women of nobility walked around in, all puffed up and frilly. She could hear Reaver barking and shouting orders downstairs and it wasn't long before a young maid stormed into the bedroom, looking quite visibly shaken.

Rayla cast the poor girl a gentle smile, trying to ease the tension she felt coming off her. The girl silently helped brush out the queen's hair and did it up in an elegant bun, with a good deal of strands falling loose from it. She had also apparently found some things to decorate the queen's hair with, Rayla found as she stared at the glittering pearls intricately wound in with her hair. The servant girl carefully placed a necklace of gold and jet around the queen's neck, softly clasping it, before bowing so low that she almost touched the floor and scurried out without a word.

Reaver seemed to support the idea of a servant not being heard or seen unless specifically instructed otherwise.

The queen left the room and painstakingly, carefully walked down the stair cases—walking was definitely very uncomfortable after the previous evening—and over to the foyer where Reaver awaited her, his cane being tapped impatiently against the tiles.

He looked resplendent in a black vest trimmed with gold over a black shirt, dark blue coat trimmed with the usual black fur, matching dark blue pants, topped with black gloves, a dark blue cravat set with a sapphire and black boots polished to a shine. His Dragonstomper glimmered in its holster hooked to his black belt and strapped to the usual spot on his thigh and a black top hat, complete with the usual goggles resting against the dark blue cloth trimming it, on his head.

He looked her over, grinning his usual smirk as he caught her staring. "Do you like what you see? And I know that I have said this before, but you do indeed look most ravishing," he said, his eyes resting for a long while on the bodice of her dress, which stooped quite low, "Your Majesty."

Rayla squared her shoulders and pushed past him and out the door. "Thank you for the gift, Reaver, but that doesn't give you permission to stare like that." She was really not sure how she truly felt about him and decided that now would not be a time for her to ponder it over. She had more than enough trouble awaiting her at the castle, of that she was sure.

"As usual, whatever pleases My Queen," he replied, smirking and giving a mocking bow before opening the carriage door for her and climbing in afterwards. He felt particularly good about today.

* * *

******Author's Note**:** Hope everyone liked it, and please, Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, I'd love to hearing from you.**


	4. Warnings

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though. The following story does not necessarily follow the main story plot lines of the games, but I try to stay somewhat true to the Fable universe and characters' basic personalities._

******Author's Note**:** Took a little while to finish this Chapter, I've been busying with the drawing for the story's cover as well as a little B/W Speedpaint of Reaver that I'll upload to my deviantART Gallery at some point. This chapter shows the beginnings of a likely change and the suspicion of something underlining it all...but anyway, on to the story! Enjoy, my pets!**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

_**WARNINGS**_

* * *

Reaver allowed his eyes to drift downwards, watching the queen. She was curled up against his side, her head nestled against his chest, in the soft fur of his coat. She was breathing softly and irregularly, quite apparently deeply asleep. It appeared that the queen had not yet fully regained her vigor from the night before.

He was content enough for the moment to not rouse her from her slumber, and merely occupied himself with watching her or looking out of the windows as the carriage made its way towards the castle in Bowerstone.

After a while, Rayla stirred and opened her eyes slowly. Something soft and warm was brushing against her cheek and she cautiously peered over to see what it was and found herself staring at plush, black fur.

_'Fur?'_ she wondered, _'I don't have any furs...oh...'_

Her eyes moved up to meet those of Reaver—they were sparkling merrily with amusement. She could feel him tighten the grip he had around her waist.

"Well now, this seems to be rapidly becoming a habit of yours, _ma chère_," he said.

Rayla struggled up from his chest—a little flustered—and into a sitting position, next to him. "I'm sorry, it certainly wasn't my intention," she replied hastily.

Reaver reached over and without a word, carefully fixed her hair which had gotten a bit disordered from her nap.

"There, I dare say that a queen should look her part for court," he said, before smirking and placing a hand on her leg, "Though, I would likely not mind if my monarch wore less clothing to court, but perhaps that is better left to a private attendance."

Rayla could see the glint of amusement in his eyes turn to something more devious and decided to steer clear of that course, ignoring the soft brushing of his fingers against her thigh. "Reaver, we need to talk about the decision that will be made today."

"Ah, yes. Letting the little mites work, or spending money the kingdom does not even have, for the merest touch of gratitude from the impoverished."

"Uh, yes. Our Treasury isn't nearly as full as I could wish. In fact, we're running rather low on funds," Rayla replied. Generally, she would not speak to anyone but Hobson or Walter concerning the kingdom's finances, but Reaver's mind for business had always had a drive for money and money was what she now needed.

"Well, _ma chère_, you should know my opinion by now. I say we have the children work, menial tasks of course. With them doing that, it allows for the other workers to do their jobs more efficiently," he replied, running a hand through his unruly hair and adjusting his top hat. "The choice will probably not be very popular and the sewer rat will definitely put up a fuss."

The carriage rattled to an abrupt stop and Rayla almost fell over on top of him, but he steadied her just in time. They could hear voices outside the carriage.

"Halt!" a guard called.

Reaver felt quite irritated at the driver's incompetence in bringing the carriage to a gentle halt—not that he would've minded having the queen sprawled on his lap, but that wasn't the point—or in notifying the guard of who the passengers were. He pulled out his Dragonstomper and leaned out from the window a little, just enough for the guard to see the pistol and its wielder. As if the emblazoned golden, double "R"'s hadn't made anyone meticulously aware of the occupant.

Without a spoken word or a moment's hesitation the carriage moved off again and Reaver holstered his pistol. "Your guards are quite rude, my pet and I must apologize for the fool driving us, he doesn't appear to be thoroughly broken in yet."

Rayla nodded, a chagrinned look on her face, but she said nothing in reply or argument.

The carriage rattled to a halt once more and Reaver practically seethed as he opened the carriage door and climbed out. He held his arm out to help the queen down the carriage steps, and once she was down them, he pulled out his Dragonstomper once more. This time there would be no idle threats as he immediately shot the driver in the leg and watched as the man fell down to writhe in agony on the ground.

Everyone appeared to jump from the thunderous sound the pistol had made and frightened eyes from everywhere looked at the scene before quickly going back to what they were doing before. This was nothing new from the Industrialist, and everyone knew to not provoke him further.

Reaver watched the groaning lump on the ground for a while before he holstered his pistol once more.

"You'd be dead if it weren't for the Queen," Reaver replied with a sneer, taking the queen's arm in his, "You had best be very thankful to Her Majesty that I'm in such a good mood."

Rayla just stared in shock between Reaver and the man now bleeding on the gravel in front of her castle, but Reaver wasted no more time on the matter as he promptly started walking off, taking the queen with him.

The guards immediately rushed to open the doors for them, having seen what Reaver had just done, and that he was escorting their ruler.

As soon as they entered the castle, Walter rushed up to them. He looked almost a bit flustered.

"Your Majesty, there you are. I heard a shot," Walter said as he cast a knowing glare at Reaver who merely shrugged nonchalantly. "Jasper found your note..."

"I'm fine and here," Rayla replied.

She was aware of how Walter looked at her while she was still clutched against Reaver's side.

"Uh...that's a rather fetching dress, Your Majesty," Walter said. "Is there a reason your outfit matches his?"

Rayla's eyes widened as she too noticed how perfectly well both her and Reaver's outfits matched and complimented each other. The bastard had likely planned it, but there was no time to change now.

"I don't have the time to argue or change clothes now, we will be late for court," she said, untangling herself from Reaver and taking an immediate step towards the throne room. With Walter watching her, she tried her best not to wince in the discomfort she felt while walking, lest he comment about that too. She was pretty sure that if he took Reaver on about that, it would come to another gunshot, possibly more fatal than the one from earlier.

Both men followed in silence, but she was sure that behind her back their eyes spoke everything they wished to say to each other.

* * *

Rayla sat in her throne—her hands folded delicately in her lap—looking every bit as regal as a true ruler. She feared that she may need to use her true authority in the issue at hand as well.

"Your Majesty," Page began, "it has been a week since you were supposed to first make your judgment. We ask that you make it now. Surely, you have had enough time to consider whatever you still needed to consider over this matter."

Reaver glanced over to the woman who stood a few feet from him and promptly turned his nose up at her. "I say, do you ever _bathe_?"

Page turned her full attention to him, glaring and opening her mouth to retort, but he cut her off before she could.

"I don't see how someone like you could possibly imagine when a monarch has had enough time to make a decision, since it's so very, very high above your sewer-infested station," he drawled, giving her a sneer and a look that dared her to argue with him. "But I do have to add that it would do well for us to get an answer now, Your Majesty," he said while turning his gaze back to the queen, "We are losing fairly precious time."

Rayla straightened in her seat, her eyes keenly aware of the look Reaver was giving her as he and Page awaited her verdict. She tried not to fidget under his gaze.

"Page," the queen began, "I understand that this is a matter that is very dear to you, and I cannot say that it is not dear to me either, but I am afraid that the kingdom needs all the hands it can muster."

The queen noticed how Page's eyes caught fire and how she tensed herself to begin arguing, but she would not give her the chance.

"Everyone—big and small—will need to lend a helping hand, for if they do not, there may very well be no one left for whom to open a school in the first place! Now is not the time to worry about things that would not make any difference should the kingdom not survive the upcoming threat if we do not do all that we can to prepare ourselves against it."

"But that's...that's just monstrous, Your Majesty!" Page seethed, audibly growling, "This is exploitation! None of your people will take this kindly."

Reaver cast a glance her way, a triumphant smile quirking on his lips, even while the distaste was still visible in his eyes. "Enough of your whining. I didn't know rats could whine same as dogs," he murmured towards her steadily trembling frame.

"You haven't done anything to improve the lives of the people since you came to power, but it's not too late to start," Page said, for a moment looking like she was reigning in her annoyance.

"My decision stands and this session is adjourned," Rayla said, getting to her feet. Most of the people had immediately begun to quickly file out.

"This is not over, Your Majesty," Page replied, a haughty look on her face.

"Get. Out," Rayla growled through clenched teeth, slightly trembling.

Page gave a mocking bow and turned on her heel, leaving the throne room.

Reaver immediately stepped up towards the throne and took the queen by the arm, tucking hers firmly into the crook of his own. "There now, let's not do something that you might possibly regret later," he said, pulling her a little closer to his side.

"Reaver, what-"

"Hush," Reaver said, cutting Walter off. "Have someone bring Her Majesty something to eat, she must be starving by now. We shall be in her study."

He gave Walter no time to argue as he deftly strode out of the throne room with the queen at his side.

* * *

Reaver pushed the doors to the study open and allowed the queen to enter before following her inside and closing the doors behind him. He walked over to the chaise longue and sat down on it, beckoning for her to join him.

Rayla walked over to him in silence, taking a seat next to him, still shaking with rage. As soon as she sat down though, a knock came from the door, but Reaver was up from where he sat and at the door before she even had time to respond.

He opened the doors and a servant quickly brought in the food he had requested. The smells of savory and spicy food drifted up with the steam rising from their warmth. The queen paid neither the maid or the food any mind and Reaver quickly ushered her out before closing and locking the doors.

He strode back over to the queen and took his seat on the chaise longue again, only this time choosing a more leisurely position, leaning back against the backrest and stretching his legs out on it.

He watched, faintly amused, as the queen turned from her seat near his feet, and silently crawled up against his body. He shifted his position some to allow her to lie down more comfortably.

Rayla spoke no word as she lay down against him, not even when his hands found the sari around her and gently unwound it from her shoulder.

Reaver leaned back into the backrest, his fingers softly running up and down along the queen's upper arms as she rested against him, one of his legs to either side of her body and her head resting against his chest. She was still very angry, a tremble coursing through her now and then. He wondered if she might actually have taken Page on if the woman had decided to resist her orders.

He allowed his fingers to carefully brush a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

Rayla sighed heavily before turning slightly on her side to bury her face against Reaver's vest. She could smell the cologne he wore and hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She focused on it, trying to let it calm her own racing pulse.

She was so angry, and she felt so desperate and so weary. "Reaver, just...accept," she muttered against his vest before lifting her head up and looking him in the eyes, "becoming my advisor."

Reaver felt stunned for all but a second at her proposal, but he didn't allow it to show on his face. A position like this could do very well for him and even better for any future business ventures that might cross his path.

He looked down at her, her blue eyes appeared big and doe-like as she waited for his answer. "Does that mean I will undeniably be getting to spend more time with you, my pet?" he asked, tucking away another stray piece of hair from her face.

Rayla nodded dumbly and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Will you explain to me why you have decided to ask this of me, _ma chère_?"

He felt a little restless and his fingers soon found themselves rubbing her sides while she lay against him. She was warm and soft, her light weight comfortable on top of him.

Rayla still disliked the man, but she had enjoyed their evening in bed, she had felt content when she awoke next to him, she was peaceful when she slumbered against his chest, and she calmed down now as his fingers caressed her sides. She wasn't quite sure what to think of him anymore.

He still appeared arrogant as fuck, he still threatened people or shot them whenever he felt the need, everyone still shied out of his way when he approached and he still undressed her with his eyes as often as he could, but there was an almost unspoken gentleness to his actions whenever he tucked a strand of hair from her face or allowed her to curl up against him.

She wasn't sure if this was because she was his ruler, someone it would not be in his best interests to deny, or because of something else. When he had called her exquisite the previous evening, he had said it like a pirate would to a stolen treasure that he coveted.

"I need an advisor," she said, licking her lips to moisten them.

Reaver's eyes darted down as she did this, the smile on his lips only becoming more apparent. "But you have an advisor and an assistant if I recall, _ma belle_."

Rayla sighed again, looking him straight in the eyes once more. "Yes, I have Walter, but that isn't helping me. He would want me to _always_ make the benevolent choice, and I've realized for the sake of my kingdom that isn't possible. I would also prefer for him to turn his full attention to the training of the army, unlike the divided attention it gets now. As for Hobson...Hobson...ugh. I thoroughly dislike that horrible little man. Quite frankly, he creeps me out and I would prefer to spend as little time as possible with him."

Reaver nodded in understanding while she continued to speak, "My kingdom is in dire need as I have told you before. We lack the finances needed, and you, you tend to be very good at making finances appear in a much better condition than they started out. So I would like to have you as my advisor, Reaver."

"Then I shall accept my duty as Royal Advisor to the Queen," he replied, taking her hand and bringing it up to his lips to gently brush them against it. The action would have been properly formal were it not for the fact that the queen was still essentially lying on top of him.

"I shall go fetch the Royal Agenda from Hobson immediately," he said, about to get up from underneath her, but she forced more of her weight on him to make sure he understood that he was not to leave.

"No, stay with me a while longer," she whispered softly, snuggling her face back against the furred lapels of his coat.

He wrapped his arms around her and tightened them for an instant as he pulled her against his chest. "Well then, the next thing I believe to be on the agenda for the day is to have something to eat. I'm not sure about you, but I'm feeling quite famished."

Now that he mentioned it, Rayla realized that she was indeed quite hungry herself and the servants did bring them food after all. Her stomach decided she was taking too long to ponder about how hungry she was and growled angrily at her.

Silence permeated the room while they ate, both deep in thought.

* * *

The day had seemed much longer than usual and Rayla wasn't quite sure whether it had been the morning drama at Reaver's, the harrowing session of court, or all the petty matters she had to deal with after she and Reaver had parted their ways from her study.

The industrialist had gone off to Bowerstone Industrial to check on his factories—no doubt to quell some minor strikes that were likely to break out—and set everything in motion for the newly applied laws.

Rayla was thankful that Reaver had made no sarcastic comment, no rude murmur or even a mention of what had transpired in her study. What happened between those closed doors, seemed to have been left there and that almost scared her.

It was unlike the way she knew Reaver, much more unlike the way others describe him, and it unsettled her. She didn't know what to expect from him anymore.

The queen gave a sigh and pushed open the doors to her bedroom. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts she hadn't even paid attention to the guards at first, but now noticed as they moved to their usual positions a little further away from her room—barring passage to the hall.

Paying attention to that caused her to miss something that would immediately suppress the majority of her worries about an unexplainable change of personality in Reaver.

"My, but you do look dead on your feet, _ma belle_."

Rayla only nearly jumped, but definitely paled a little. She cast her eyes around her room, dimly lit with candles in the dark of the moonless night. Her eyes found their target leisurely sprawled between the crimson sheets of her bed.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, before walking over to her vanity and starting to undo her hair. "I believe I made you my Royal Advisor, Reaver."

"Yes," came the sultry reply.

"I do not recall making you my bed warmer," Rayla finished as she started to comb out the tangles in her hair, trying as best as she could to ignore his presence.

"Are the positions tradable?" Reaver asked, sultry suddenly gone and instead a hint of genuine curiosity sounding in his voice.

"What do you want from me, Reaver?" she asked, probably sounding just as exhausted as she felt. This was Reaver, and there would be no need to beat around the bush or mind manners as she was forced to do daily these days and even more so in court.

He remained quiet for a while and only when the queen turned to face him with a glare of impatience, did he reply. "I'm only here to serve my Queen," he said, shifting a bit under the sheets, "that and the servants haven't gotten the room I had asked for quite up to my taste yet. After last night, I didn't believe you'd be complaining, my sweet."

"I don't even want to hear about last night," Rayla grumbled, undressing and changing into her satin nightdress—too tired to even care if he was watching. After she pulled on the dress, she walked over to the bed and gave him another fierce look.

Reaver merely stared back defiantly. "There is no way that I am going back to that inadequate...space...right now, no matter how you glower at or try to threaten me."

Rayla only rolled her eyes and sighed deeply, climbing in on the far side of the bed. She watched as his hand reached towards her, but she stopped it in its tracks. "I am beyond tired and sick of everyone. Stay if you must then, but if you touch me even once tonight, Reaver, I will stab you in your sleep. Do we understand each other?"

In the dim candlelight she could only barely make out the sly grin that spread across his face. The night would likely turn out longer than the day had been.

* * *

******Author's Note**:** Our Queen is a little out of sorts, but this is only the beginning...Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, please Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, let me know.**


	5. Stubbornness

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though. The following story does not necessarily follow the main story plot lines of the games, but I try to stay somewhat true to the Fable universe and characters' basic personalities._

******Author's Note**:** Here we go, chapter 5! For those of you who had been wondering, I will slowly be revealing more and more of Rae's personality as we go along. For those of you who had been wanting Reaver to get a little taste of his own medicine, I hope this chapter will be a treat. Enjoy, my sweets!**

******Warning:** Slight Adult Content. Occurs during the lunch under the gazebo.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE:**

_**STUBBORNNESS**_

* * *

Rayla awoke, feeling somewhat rested. The previous day had been so exhausting that she had figured she'd sleep for days. If she could...she would have.

Something warm was gently rubbing her back and her pillow was feeling a bit more stiff than she had expected it to.

Stifling a yawn, she carefully looked around and her gaze came to rest on the man next to her in bed. A shoulder definitely proved to be less squishy than a pillow. Another morning, a new day, and here she was once again, cuddled up in bed with Reaver. Finally being able to shut off the day and falling asleep had been such a blissful experience that she had completely forgotten that her bed had not been empty the previous night and that the other occupant had refused to leave.

Surprisingly, he had not pestered her all throughout the night, and she hadn't had the need to bring her threat to fruition. He was touching her now though, but the feeling of his fingers tenderly caressing the small of her back kept her in check. It allowed a soft, lulling feeling to permeate her whole being.

He hadn't seemed to notice that she had woken up yet and she had no intention of him finding out just yet. Rayla closed her eyes again and nestled her head a little more against his shoulder, rubbing her cheek slightly against it, but still appearing to be fast asleep.

A rumble rippled through the muscles beneath her as a soft chuckle sounded with Reaver's voice.

Rayla allowed the fingers of one hand to slowly move onto his chest, the muscle beneath them was taut and strong. A warm hand gently folded around hers and she could feel hot air breathed against the top of her head.

She had to admit to herself that he seemed quite decent when there was no one to see, or apparently even someone "awake" to experience it. His gentleness was unnerving, she didn't expect the Industrialist capable of anything of the sort.

The scent of smoke in the air ripped her from her thoughts and she opened her eyes fully to look at Reaver. He was still leisurely lying back in bed, the hand that had held hers now placed a silver case on the bedside table—a lit cigarette was tucked between his lips.

"You're actually smoking in my bed?" she asked, raising herself up on her side against him.

Reaver's eyes immediately darted over to her, a smile spreading around the cigarette in his mouth. He took another drag and delicately tipped the ash into an ashtray she hadn't even noticed on the bedside table before. "Good morning, my sweet. I trust that you slept well eventually..."

Rayla sat up fully, the crimson duvet falling from her shoulders and the motion causing it to slide just low enough for her to realize that Reaver wasn't too fond of sleeping with clothes on. She tore her eyes away and quickly pulled the blanket up a little higher, trying to ignore the amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"Why are you on my side of the bed?" she asked.

"I'm not, my pet, you're on my side. You were thrashing about last night—a nightmare I assume—and you only grew calm once I had you curled up against me," he replied, smirking and offering the cigarette to her.

Rayla accepted the cigarette and took a deep drag from it before handing it back, ignoring the burning sensation it caused down her throat. "If you mention that to another living soul, Reaver, I will castrate you personally."

Reaver's eyes widened slightly as he assessed the threat and the seriousness with which she had spoken it, deciding in the end to safely not test those waters. He couldn't help but to make at least a playful jab at it though. "What about a dying soul?"

"Get out," Rayla said, the look on her face darkening.

Reaver merely laughed and kissed the top of her head. "Well, I suppose I had better get dressed. There is much required of me for today."

Rayla watched as he climbed out of the bed, her eyes trailing down from his tousled dark hair, to the rippling muscles of his back and down, down to his perfectly sculpted behind. She couldn't help but stare at the gorgeous, manly, alabaster form and thoughtfully bit her lower lip between her teeth.

Reaver turned a look behind him in time to catch her staring and his eyes lit up with pleasure, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Now, now, if you insist on torturing that poor, plump rosy lip of yours like that, I might just need to intervene."

Rayla snapped from her reverie of lustful thoughts and memories of his skill in bed to glower at him. "Get dressed, Reaver. What is on the schedule for me to do today?"

"You have a couple meetings with some snotty nobles and a few Bowerstone vermin this morning, but as for the rest of the day there is little for you to do. Tomorrow the Sewer Rat will be attending court with yet another proposal, so I'd spend my day as best as I can today if I were you, Your Majesty," Reaver replied while getting dressed, putting on a bit of a show as he did so.

Rayla tried to focus more on his words than the disappearing of naked limbs as he talked while dressing.

'_Page...again_,' she thought. She was not particularly happy with that knowledge, but it could not be avoided.

Reaver had by now fully dressed and was busy with the final touches to his face and hair.

She hadn't even realized that there was a spare set of clothes draped over a chair in her room the previous evening. Clearly, nothing would have assuaged him to have left last night.

He was indeed tremendously confident, but then she figured, that was nothing new with Reaver. He seemed to basically always get his way—through any means possible—be it through charm, seduction, threats, blackmail, or even through a few fatal gunshots.

Rayla climbed out of the bed and pulled on a long, satin robe to cover the flimsy nightdress she was wearing. The chill of the morning air that breezed in through the open windows had drawn Reaver's eyes to her breasts like metal to a magnet.

"Mmm," he positively purred at the sight.

Rayla deftly tied the sash around her hips and crossed her arms angrily. "You should probably leave now," she said, coldly.

Reaver quirked a brow at the tone of voice, but ignored it and placed a quick kiss to her cheek, stepping away in time to avoid any negative reactions and heading to the door.

Reaver opened the doors of the queen's bedroom, on his way to leave, only to stare down into the face of a certain obstruction blocking the doorway.

"Reaver!? What are _you_ doing _here_?" Walter asked, rather unkindly. "This is Her Majesty's royal bedchambers, you are unfit to even be disgracing this hallway, much less to enter her room."

"Why, you wound me, _old man_," Reaver said, feigning hurt by placing his hand over his heart, but his eyes glittered with both amusement and annoyance—no trace of hurt though. "I believe that the Royal Advisor to the Queen is allowed to go before her, even in her bedroom."

"What?" Walter asked, dumbfounded.

Reaver impatiently tapped his cane against the glistening tiles, the sound resounding throughout the hall. "I am simply saying that, well, I have replaced you, old chap. Her Majesty, our lovely queen, has appointed me to be her new Royal Advisor and I am most certainly allowed to come to her room to let her know the schedule for the day."

Walter was about to argue when the queen appeared.

Rayla walked up behind Reaver, placing a hand on his shoulder to let him know to move out of the way. He obliged, taking a step back and to her side.

"Walter, good morning," she said, carefully adjusting her robe.

Walter looked from both the queen to Reaver and back to her again, his eyes narrowing. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

Rayla shifted a little uneasily under his gaze. "Walter, I'm sorry, but what Reaver says is true. He is my new Royal Advisor. I appointed him yesterday afternoon."

"But...why?" Walter asked. "What did he do!?" He looked over at Reaver again and glared at the man.

Reaver merely seemed to shake it off, instead admiring his own image in one of the mirrors and polishing his cane a bit.

"Walter, he did not do anything. This was no forced decision," the queen sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "I simply needed a new advisor. I would like for you to spend more time working with the army and training the men. The safety of the kingdom is utterly important and I would prefer that the attention given to that is not divided.

In the coming future I sense that I will likely need to make some harder decisions—ones that you won't necessarily like—and I would prefer to not let that be a burden upon your shoulders. You have served me loyally as an advisor, but I truly need you to focus on my army now. All our fates depend on that. Court matters shall henceforth be left to Reaver."

Walter eyed Reaver once more with suspicion before looking back to the queen and nodding slowly. "Well, if that is what you want Your Majesty. I'm sure Ben won't mind the company, and if this," he gestured over to Reaver, "is the new company that the castle will keep, then I'm sure I will be more suited to Ben's company anyway."

Reaver quirked an eyebrow as he looked over to the older man. "Oh, do you mean what I think you do? How scandalous!" he said with smirk spreading across his lips.

Rayla turned on her heel and stared at the tall man. Reaver stared right back down at her, the smirk still plastered to his face. She was determined to win at showing her dominance and staring him down, but after a moment it would prove that in that alone she would not prevail. Being shorter than one's target tends to take the wind out of one's sails quite a bit.

Rayla grit her teeth in irritation, still glaring at him. "Reaver, I think it best that you leave now. I have my schedule for the day and I'm sure that you have a job to do, so you had best get to it. I can always change my mind about your position."

The look on Reaver's face turned dark for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. "Very well, Your Majesty. I believe I shall also check in on my factories, but I shall be back by lunchtime for our meal. If you'll excuse me then," he said, giving a slight bow to the queen and pushing past Walter as he left.

Walter who had remained silent throughout the exchange between Reaver and the queen finally spoke up again. "Are you very sure that this had been a wise decision? Reaver is a very manipulative man, and to be quite honest, he's taken possibly every despicable path that exists."

Rayla shifted her weight to one leg, taking on a posture of impatience, her hands coming to rest on her hips. "Walter, I am a child no longer. I believe I can make decisions like that by myself now. I know that he is manipulative, but frankly, I need him. My kingdom's finances need him.

Everyone is so quick to jump on their horses when it comes to matters like Reaver or the choices that I have to make for the kingdom, but no one tries to even think of what will happen if I do not make the hard and fast decisions—unpopular as they may be—in an attempt to make sure this kingdom survives the coming threat.

No one is there to carry the burden if none of this works out, if we all get destroyed, if all life surrounding us ends. The Darkness is coming here! You were there with me, you saw what happened—you experienced it personally! I cannot let that happen to my kingdom.

Albion will survive this, I will make sure of it—no matter the cost. What does not kill us, will only make us stronger. After everything has been decided and done, Albion will come out stronger than before."

Walter, although disappointed in the queen, was enthralled in hearing with what passion she spoke of the matter. He remembered all too well what had happened in Aurora, but surely there was a better choice than Reaver. He knew the queen would not change her mind on the matter though. She had always been a stubborn girl, even in her childhood and the words she had spoken about what doesn't kill someone makes them stronger had become her motto over the years. He sincerely believed that it had been that which had carried her through Elliot being killed by her brother's orders and her still sparing and accepting him after all he had done.

He still feared that her decisions would provoke a new uprising, especially with Page being as disgruntled as she had been since the queen's verdict yesterday, but he knew that—unlike her brother, Logan—Rayla would crush any threat to her kingdom. No matter who the opposition was.

"Your Ma-"

Rayla faced him again abruptly, taking a step forward. "No. Don't you even dare to mention her, Walter. She is dead. My mother was good and benevolent and in the end that made her will weak, in the end it killed her. The people killed her and this is what happened to the kingdom in turn! I will not be like she was."

Walter nodded in submission, "Then I shall take my leave, Your Majesty. I believe Ben should know of the changes right away."

Rayla watched as her old mentor left and sighed deeply. The day had only begun and already she was feeling tired again. She quietly closed the doors to her room and headed over to her armoire, about to look for something to wear.

A timid knock to her door caught her attention. "Yes?"

"Your Majesty, I've brought you a gift. I was told to deliver it to you immediately," a young, female voice said.

"Enter," Rayla replied and watched as the doors quickly opened and closed.

The young maid stood with a large decorated box in her arms. "I was told to give this to you right away, my Queen," she said as she walked over to the queen.

Rayla took the box from the maid and placed it on the bed as she opened it to reveal a gorgeous sleeveless dress. It was a lovely pale purple color, the bodice was the same color, but the middle had a lovely maroon-purple color instead and the whole thing was decorated with silver embroidered vines. Purple roses decorated the top in a few places, and running down the center of the bodice were a few amethysts placed over delicate dark purple lace. The bodice itself seemed to work like a corset, judging by the laces at the back, but it was lovely nonetheless. The skirt was made of gorgeous silk, two slits running on both sides of it.

The dress appeared both very regal and quite practical and the queen wondered who had sent it. Underneath the dress she found a necklace and a card. There was nothing written on the card, but for a small black heart and an elegantly penned "R".

Rayla felt too tired to puzzle out who had sent the parcel, but decided that it was likely a blessing since she would no longer need to wonder about what to wear.

"Let me help you into that, My Queen," the young, servant girl said while picking up the dress.

Before long the queen was admiring her reflection in the mirror, the dress suited her form perfectly. The maid had braided and done her hair up in a messy, but elegant bun. The dark, loose, curling strands accented her face as much as the silver necklace with its glistening amethyst.

The dark eye shadow around her eyes brought out the stark beauty of their blue color. Not a blemish or mark on her face, clearly being a Hero and getting a good night's sleep could achieve wonders.

Fully dressed in her new outfit and a pair of long, black boots, she was ready to face the day and all the complaints it held.

* * *

Rayla sat at the head of the table beneath the gazebo in the garden, the deep crimson cloths that draped it for privacy were gently blowing in the breeze. She took a sip of the dark red wine, it would have been polite to have waited for her guest to arrive, but he seemed to be running late and she was starving.

The cooks had prepared a generous spread of food, dishes lined the table right down to the other end. There was a steaming, golden-brown grilled chicken, crunchy roasted potatoes, saucy fish, savory bread, a bowl of pungent soup and crisped chunks of bread, slices of roast pig drizzled in tangy sauce accompanied with flavored rice, spicy stew, butter-cooked vegetables, and fresh salads and fruits. A crystal jug of wine and one of water sat on either side of the bouquet of red roses decorating the table.

The queen picked a few things from the assortment of dishes and placed them in her plate, before sitting down again. As she began to nibble on some of the food, a top hat poked through the draperies, soon to be followed by the tall, lean form of Reaver.

"Well now, you do look just gorgeous, Your Majesty. My tastes seem excellent as usual," Reaver said as he sat down to the right of the queen. "I apologize for my tardiness, but sometimes one just gets forced to be fashionably late."

"You," Rayla stated. "You were the one who sent the package. I should have known."

She wondered how she could have missed it earlier that morning, the heart was as much Reaver's trademark as his smirk was, and of course the initial of his name.

"Of course I did," Reaver said, taking off his hat and placing it with his cane on the further end of the table before pouring himself a glass of wine.

Rayla frowned and placed her elbows on the table—not caring how unmannered it was or not—and laced her fingers together with her chin atop them. "Why are you dressing me, Reaver? I'm quite sure I own clothes, and if the need truly arises for more attire, I can buy some myself."

"What? And use money from the Royal Treasury? You're having a hard enough time doing all you need to with those funds already," Reaver said, taking a sip of wine before continuing, "My own wealth is vast, Your Majesty. Why don't you just use the Treasury on the kingdom and I'll spend some of my treasury on you, however I see fit."

Rayla dug back into her meal, promptly skewering a piece of meat onto her fork. The action appeared violent enough to cause Reaver to arch an eyebrow as he helped himself to some of the dishes.

"I had to quell a little revolt today in one of the factories. Apparently some of the workers still have enough free time to plot schemes instead of doing their jobs," he said before taking a bite of his chicken.

Rayla swallowed the bite of food she was chewing and took a gulp of wine. She had wondered if her decision would bring such unrest amongst the workers. Clearly, she had good reason to make the choice she had, yet _clearly_, there were people to disagree.

"I assume it was because of the child labor law being reinstituted?" she asked, lifting her eyes to meet those of Reaver.

He nodded, taking another sip of his wine and dabbing his mouth on a napkin before continuing to eat his meal.

"I feared that would be the reaction to my decision," Rayla murmured, wiping her mouth on her own napkin, suddenly no longer in the mood to eat.

Reaver placed a piece of potato in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before speaking again, "Well, if you are that bothered about what the rats think, you can always take back your decision and take the path of benevolent radiance and stupidity, as your mother did, but I think we both know how that turned out..."

Rayla rose from the table in anger, so abruptly that the table shook and trembled. She was conscious of some of the glasses and dishes clashing together and shattering. Water and wine splashed over the table, some even splashed onto Reaver's perfectly immaculate clothes, but she didn't care.

Reaver had half a moment for instinct to kick in and draw his Dragonstomper .48 before the queen was on him. The rapid motion with which she had moved was enough to cause the chair that he was sitting on to tumble backwards onto the floor with the both of them, shattering in the process.

Rayla heard the click of a hammer being cocked and she immediately stilled, cold metal touched the leftmost bare skin between her breasts.

Reaver was keenly aware of the sharp edge of the knife clutched in the queen's hand against his throat. Excellent as he was at dodging—in this situation—he had to admit that he would not be able to get away from the blade before damage occurred. The queen's weight atop him, dulled his ability of moving out of the way quite a bit.

Rayla narrowed her eyes at Reaver, gritting her teeth in agitation. She knew that a bullet would meet its mark before she could even properly strike with the knife.

Reaver merely stared back up at the queen, he appeared calm, but his posture was more rigid underneath her than it had been before.

No one seemed to have heard the racket of broken glass and nor could anyone see what was happening behind the draping of cloth that obscured them.

For a long while they just stared at each other, weapons unmoving, assessing the situation and all their options.

Not long after, Rayla's shoulders slumped a bit and she heaved a sigh. Some of the tension instantly drained from Reaver's face. The immediate danger had passed.

"Let's put that down now, _ma chère_," Reaver said, wrapping his hand around the queen's and pulling the knife away from his throat with one hand while uncocking and holstering his Dragonstomper with the other.

Whilst the metal of the knife clang as it hit the cobblestones, the queen's fingers found their way into his hair and her lips brushed against his. His hands found their way to her waist and pulled her close to him while deepening the kiss.

When he allowed her to pull away, they were both gasping for air. "You seem rather frustrated, _ma belle_," Reaver said, somewhat breathlessly. "May I suggest a good bout against some unsavory creatures? I have a feeling that a fight would ease some of the anxiety in you. My mansion in Millfields is still quite equipped to help in this endeavor."

Rayla glared at him, but didn't make any motion to get off of him and merely continued to keep him straddled to the ground. "You kept your Wheel of Misfortune and the battle pits in the mansion?"

Reaver raised an eyebrow, as if he was surprised to hear the surprised accusation in her voice. "Well, why not? I too need to blow off some steam sometimes and I would hate for my pistol to feel unused, but I can't just shoot all my staff. Proper staff is so hard to come by!"

Reaver's hands went back to their path of inquisitive exploration of her body, pulling her back down against him a bit, his lips brushing against her neck. "If that does not suit you, we could do something completely different to relieve tension..." his voice trailed off as he kissed her bare shoulder.

Rayla closed her eyes, enjoying the tender affection.

"We could very well retire to your bedchambers, my sweet," Reaver murmured as he slipped one of his hands in between her corset, cupping a breast.

Rayla knew exactly what he was suggesting and it was enough to send a thrill through her. She ground herself down against him, sensually moving her hips and drawing a purr of pleasure from his lips, his eyes closing slightly.

His mouth soon found hers and he kissed her with a passion and hunger that drove the breath searing from her lungs. She could feel the hard bulge of success grinding up beneath her and with the way he was kissing her, she felt quite sure that she was the only thing in the world he wanted just then.

She pulled away from the kiss, taking a deep breath of air, before leaning back down close to his face. "Yes, I think we shall go see if the beasts in your mansion can put up a fight," Rayla whispered against his ear and immediately climbed up off of him. She adjusted her bodice and brushed off her dress, checking for any wine stains, but her clothes were unmarred.

Reaver let out a growl of frustration, annoyed and even confused for a moment at the abrupt stop of stimulation. "What? You want to go _now_?" he asked, sounding a little dumbstruck.

"Well, yes! Why not? I'll go have a carriage prepared right away," she said turning her back to him. Looking over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes slightly, she added, "Come on then, aren't you coming?"

Reaver was still lying on the ground, apparently still a little astounded with the move his queen had pulled. He seemed to almost cringe a bit as he adjusted the bulging endowment trapped beneath his tight, form-fitting trousers.

Rayla couldn't help but to smirk and raise an eyebrow. "Well, Reaver, do you need a moment or are you coming?"

Reaver got back up on his feet and narrowed his eyes at her, grabbing his hat and cane from the mess on the table. Neither seemed to have come to any harm, he couldn't say the same for his coat and vest though—or his pride. "I think I would prefer a change of clothes actually, my monarch seems to be a tad on the clumsy side," he replied, sarcastically.

"You can do that at your mansion, come on," the queen said as she promptly walked out from under the gazebo underneath which they had had their rather catastrophic lunch.

Reaver followed a bit more slowly, he had taken off his vest and jacket. The jacket was draped perfectly across his arm, hiding from everyone's view the reason why he was walking a little less graceful than usual.

By the time he reached the front of the castle, a carriage was just pulling to a stop, awaiting them. He had by now gotten his body back under his control and unceremoniously tossed the vest and jacket to a passing maid. "Get those washed and taken to my room," he said darkly. Just because his body was under control didn't mean that his mood was.

It was thankfully warm outside and he didn't need his jacket as the balmy breeze brushed against his now uncovered black shirt, his cravat whipping in the wind. The sun was annoyingly bright though, and he had to suppress the urge to grab his goggles from his hat and put them on. He quickly opened the carriage door instead, allowing the queen to step inside before following her.

She appeared quite mirthful as they sat down opposite each other, likely still praising herself for her skillful acting earlier. The reminder of that only aggravated him, and he was grateful that they would reach Millfields soon. He definitely needed to shoot something now.

* * *

******Author's Note**:** A big thank you to everyone who has supported me in this story thus far. Special thanks to AngelaCM, Bishou no Marina and Wendy17 who have been faithfully reviewing. I appreciate it guys.**

**Please Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, do let me know.**


	6. Tension

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though._

******Author's Note**:** Chapter 6 is finally here! The words of caution are thus: This chapter is LONG, the chapter will be somewhat graphic in combat, the chapter will also be kinda smutty after the battle. For those wondering about Rayla, if she appears to act 'odd' in the beginning... it's because she had inadvertently discovered a new power that she possesses...**

**Reaver B/W Portrait can now be found in my deviantART Gallery.**

**In****spirational Song****: **Good Charlotte - _Alive._

Give the song a listen or check out the lyrics.

**Warning****: **Adult Content. Right after the Wheel of Misfortune battle, feel free to skip down to the second from last divider if it makes you uncomfortable.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX:**

_**TENSION**_

* * *

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of Reaver's mansion in Millfields. Reaver exited first and offered his arm to the queen to help her down the steps.

Rayla accepted it and gracefully climbed down the steps, trying hard not to start laughing at the rigid posture with which he was helping her. He hadn't appeared to take what had happened in good spirits. Teasing him like that had certainly cheered _her_ up.

Reaver cast a glance to the driver and nodded slightly, "Better."

Rayla looked over and noticed that it had been the same driver who had driven their carriage the day before, apparently he had remained at the castle too. He was still trembling slightly—likely due to fear of his master—and his leg had been bandaged. She knew that she probably should have berated Reaver over the treatment of his staff, but she had figured that he was the one paying them and that it wasn't really her place to interfere.

As they approached the front doors, they swung open immediately. Rufus—Reaver's poor new butler as she recalled—bowed deeply to his master and to her.

"W-w-welcome back, S-sir. Y-y-your Majesty, so g-good to s-see you a-ag-again," the man stammered, still in a bowed position.

Rayla was about to reply to the servant's greeting, but Reaver cut her off by tossing his hat and cane at the servant.

Rufus—amazingly and quite contrary to what one would expect from his posture and behavior—caught both of the items before they could hit the floor.

Rayla was quite impressed with the catch and almost expected that Reaver would praise the servant for it, or even just comment on it.

"See to it that nothing disturbs us," Reaver said acidly, "I want some servants ready at the pits, have them wake the inhabitants and leave before we get there, unless they would like to be bait."

Rufus bowed deeply again, his head almost touching the floor, before he scurried off quickly to carry out his master's orders.

Reaver headed up the stairs without a word, but stopped midway when he became aware that the queen wasn't following. He turned to look over his shoulder, she appeared a little flustered for a second. "What? What is it?"

"I...I actually forgot to bring any of my weapons," she replied, chagrinned as she looked up at him.

Reaver rolled his eyes and exhaled audibly, placing a hand on his hip. "Well, you see now. That is what you get for acting on a half cocked idea as impatiently as you did."

Rayla glowered as she walked up the stairs. "You're the one who rushed me into the carriage, I recall," she replied testily. "You have spares, don't you?"

"Always," he replied stiffly, continuing up the stairs to his bedroom.

Rayla followed behind him in silence afterwards and all that could be heard were the gentle tapping of their feet against the polished tiles.

Reaver was very thankful that the monarch knew how to pick her feet up properly while she walked. He had shot many of his servants and had countless threatening discussions about dragging their feet across his floors. The sound grated on his nerves—especially with his keen hearing—and he refused to tolerate it one bit.

He also hated when people slouched, what was the use of them having a spine after all? His servants had quickly learned that they were either to walk up straight and proper, or remain in a bowed posture in whatever they did. Not one slouch or dragging of feet would go unpunished in his mansion.

He did nothing for the amount of stammering though, his butlers always tended to have a fair bit of a stammer—without his help even—and the other servants feared him enough to fall over their words quite a few times in a single sentence.

Reaver pushed open the heavy, lavishly decorated doors to his bedroom. A glimmer of sunlight streaming through a half-drawn curtain shed light into the spacious room.

Rayla walked quietly in behind Reaver. Her jaw dropped a little as she surveyed the area.

His room was tidy, clean, extravagant, and absolutely sensual. She didn't know how she had missed everything the last time she had been in the room.

The walls were a lovely cream color with golden embellished borders, a mirror hung here or there, along with a portrait or two of Reaver. The black and ivory tiles were polished to a brilliant shine and covered in places with plush crimson or black colored rugs. The curtains were one of the deepest crimson colors she had ever seen, trimmed in gold and made of the finest silks. The bed, desk, tables, bookcases, armoires, chests, and chairs had clearly been carved out of the finest dark wood in existence, decorated with carved patterns and gold, and then polished to a shine. The chairs and chaise longue that stood in the bedroom were covered in decadent crimson or ivory colored velvet.

The bed was looking even more enchanting than she had thought it did when she had been inside it the previous time. The zillions of pillows and cushions looked plush and fluffed, covered in gold and crimson velvet and silk coverlets. The crimson duvet looked warm, soft, luxurious, and utterly inviting. Gorgeous, crimson silks and sheer cloths hung draped from the bed posts. The huge golden Reaver Industries logo embroidered in gold onto the central hanging cloth at the headboard of the bed looked stunning—and it brought her crashing back to reality. This was Reaver's room that she was drooling over.

Reaver was standing, quietly observing her reaction to his bedroom. He was amused to see her mouth drop into a small 'o' of awe while her eyes drank in everything. He knew that look in a woman's eyes—it was pure, undiluted lust for the finer things in life. He had to wonder for a moment if her brother had skimped a little on doting on her with fine gifts and luxuries—Avo knew, _she_ was certainly denying herself those pleasures now.

He cleared his throat gently when a shocked look had suddenly appeared on her face and she turned on him, looking even more shocked for a moment.

"Why don't you stay here and adore my bedroom some more and I shall go fetch you some weapons. I shan't be long, my pet," he said, moving past her and letting a hand 'accidentally' brush against her behind.

Rayla scowled at the man's back while she watched him walk to a bookcase to reveal a secret entrance. He appeared to like his little secret bookcase-doorways quite a bit, about as much as he seemed to like the color of crimson.

Doing her best to push the man from her mind, she settled for rummaging through his armoires and drawers while he was absent.

Perhaps if Reaver had known about the invasion of privacy going on in his room, he would have hurried more in turning the dial of the huge safe that was usually hidden behind an enormous portrait of him and a unicorn that was about to meet an untimely end.

The safe held his store of weapons; some daggers, a few cutlasses, one or two more 'normal' swords, a fair amount of rifles, a plethora of bullets, and his beloved Dragonstompers—all 4 of his spares. The safe also contained quite an amount of horded gold, deeds to mansions and factories, gemstones, and other valuable items. It was truly a pirate's treasure, nestled safely away from any prying eyes.

He immediately selected one of the spare Dragonstompers and grabbed two of the cutlasses. It had been a while since he had wielded one, but he would never be able to forget how to use it to a deadly precision.

He closed the gigantic, heavy door to the safe and made sure it was secure before allowing the portrait to slide back into place, hiding his riches.

Reaver walked back into his bedroom carrying the second Dragonstomper .48 and the two cutlasses, closing the secret door behind him. The scene in front of him quickly stopped him in his tracks though.

"What the Void?" he asked, sounding a little confused and incredulous at the same time.

"Hmm?" Rayla asked, turning to face him. The queen had helped herself to some of his wardrobe from one of the armoires. She was still wearing the bodice of her dress, but the skirt she had replaced with a pair of his black pants.

He figured she must have rolled up the bottom parts of the legs some before tucking them into her knee-high boots. Where the pants usually clung form-fittingly to him, on her they sat much looser, not in a way that would make one's eyes bleed at the sight, but definitely not as flattering to her form as he would have preferred. The holster strapped to her thigh like his, didn't win him over either.

"Why ever do you have those?" she asked, gesturing to the cutlasses. "Aren't they used on ships?"

Reaver snapped out of his shocked staring and rounded on her without delay. "Forget the swords," he breathed, towering over her a little, "Just _why_, are you dressed in _my_ clothes?"

Rayla looked down at her outfit and gave a slight shrug before looking back up at him. "I didn't want to ruin my dress," she whispered softly, getting up on her tiptoes. "Do you mind?" she asked, her lips almost brushing against his.

Reaver glanced down at her slightly parted lips, but his eyes also caught a glimpse of one of his shirts on the bed. Ignoring the temptation, he turned to look at it, before looking back at her. "I suppose you mean to wear that as well?" he asked with a sigh. "Are the laces giving you trouble, _ma belle_?"

"Yes," Rayla replied, turning her back to him and looking over her shoulder as she bat her lashes at him. "Would you mind helping me out of it?" she asked, scooting her back right up against his chest. She could hear him suck in a breath.

Reaver was only more than happy to oblige his monarch. He took a step back and deftly worked at unlacing the bodice, his lips brushing against her neck as he pulled the bodice from her and tossed it onto the bed.

For a moment she leaned back against his chest, his hands coming around to hold her, but he wouldn't get the chance.

Quick and unexpected as a snake's strike, Rayla dodged him, grabbing the shirt from the bed and pulling it on, already headed for the door, buttoning the shirt as she went. "Thank you, now come on."

Reaver remained standing still for a moment, blinking in surprise. Twice that day, she had gotten the better of him and it vexed him like nothing else.

'_What the Void is going on_?' he puzzled. He had to wonder if his charm was lacking somewhat of late. No woman had ever been able to say no to him—virgin, unattached, married, it didn't matter—no one ever refused his advances. Hell, even less would ever dream of tempting him in the way the queen was doing and then just dropping everything like it was a pair of old slippers.

He had half a mind to just grab her, drag her back to his bed and have his way with her, but he resolved that the repercussions afterwards would be too much of a headache to deal with.

They made their way quietly down to the area of the mansion that held the Wheel of Misfortune and its combat trial rooms. They veered towards the first one they reached, the gate rattling shut behind them.

Reaver walked into the room, not looking like he was particularly paying attention to anything. He had been uncharacteristically quiet and completely refused to talk to the queen. The room they entered was even more silent than he was. Too quiet...

And then a hobbe jumped down from above, aiming a hammer right at Reaver's head. Rayla didn't even have time to shout a warning, and could only blink in surprised shock as the Industrialist effortlessly aimed behind him, without even looking and pulled the trigger.

The hobbe fell dead on the ground, a puddle of blood pooling around his oversized head.

There was an eerie moment of silence but for the echo left by the gunshot, then all hell broke loose.

The room was practically teeming with hobbes of all shapes and sizes—the only true similarity was that they were all armed—and they were clearly hungry.

Reaver tossed one of the cutlasses and the spare Dragonstomper to the queen, who nimbly picked them out of the air, immediately taking aim with the pistol.

Reaver allowed himself a moment to appreciate her form and stance with a pistol, before he had to fire with his own to halt the tide of beasts coming at him.

He had to admit that she was quite skilled with a pistol. Of course, no one would ever be able to beat him in feats of Skill, but there was definitely potential there.

He instantly noticed that his head was not completely in the game when a slobbering hobbe nearly stuck a blade into his side while he was reloading his pistol. The thing met a nasty end as he kicked it in the face, away from him and watched with amusement as it got impaled on another's weapon.

He detested the hobbes, they died too quickly and were much too predictable, yet it gave him the perfect time to admire the movements of the queen. She was agile and lithe, moving in perfectly timed rhythms like one would to a dance. Battle was definitely the dance that all Heroes understood instinctively, it was in their blood.

Reaver promptly decided that he would dance with the queen sometime—if he had to throw a ball for it to happen, so be it—if he had his way, it was definitely going to happen one way or another.

A sudden stench alerted him that another hobbe had gotten too close again and he rapidly beheaded the creature with his cutlass, the force with which he had slashed had sent the head flying into a bunch of the beasts. He could never be quite sure if they even cared about such things.

Rayla had a minute to look over at Reaver just as he was beheading a hobbe, the flying head sprayed an impressive amount of blood, but she cared less about that than about the man holding the dripping cutlass. She had always seen him with just his pistol for as long as she could remember, but he handled a cutlass as if it were an extension of his arm. She would need to ask him about where he had learnt to use one.

A red hobbe suddenly obscured her vision of Reaver, growling angrily in her face, the saliva dripping in globs down its wide mouth. Rayla ran it through with her cutlass, a shiver of bloodlust coursing through her when she heard the sickening squelch of its organs rupturing before it slid off the blade into a motionless lump on the ground.

Before long, the tide had been stemmed and not one hobbe even peeked out from a corner. Reaver appeared to be thoroughly bored and she couldn't blame him. Hobbes made for poor sport—even in droves—as the piled, sticky, dripping red corpses behind them, while they left, had proved.

The next room they entered was eerily silent too, but hey, graveyards tend to be rather quiet—for a while at least.

"Hollow men...," Rayla murmured, reloading her pistol right away. The blasted skeletons were known for piling in groups onto their prey.

"Oh, by the way, dear," Reaver said, turning his gaze to the queen. "If you so much as let a scratch come to that pistol, I might just need to scratch you back."

"I know how to use a pistol, Reaver! Now duck you egotist!" Rayla shouted at him, staring at the hollow man that was popping up behind him while she took aim.

"No need," Reaver said casually, turning to the side with a quick twist of his foot and shooting the corpse right between the eyes, its skull shattering from the close-quarters impact.

"And so the dance begins," Reaver said triumphantly, dodging the blades of two more hollow men and moving a pace backwards, firing back in retaliation.

Rayla merely shook her head, it seemed like the aristocrat could handle himself, so she only worried about herself and the group of rotting skeletons that dragged their feet her way.

These were still the easy ones, and both she and Reaver had no trouble in dispatching them into piles of dust and bone splinters. Reaver had opted for using only his Dragonstomper for the battle thus far, and as far as she was able to tell, none of his bullets ever seemed to miss their targets. His skill with a firearm was definitely uncanny.

Rayla ducked a swinging blade, spun on her heel beneath the weapon, rose up on her feet again and brought the cutlass down hard on the attacker's skull. Two separate halves fell to the ground as the rest of the skeleton crumpled into a pile.

Rayla was quite surprised with the weapon. Though she had been taught that the cutlass was a sailor or pirate's choice of weapon and were used mostly on ships, she didn't quite know just how handy a weapon it made on land as well. The cutlass didn't seem to need any special moves for it to swiftly kill opponents. The sword was perfect for fast, hard, brutal blows and it was especially deadly in close-quarters.

Finally, one of the commanders appeared. Rayla stormed at it, cutlass raised and ready to hack it to bits.

Predictable as usual, the commander summoned more hollow men to its side. Rayla charged at it nonetheless, hacking her way through the smaller hollow men.

"Duck, you fool!" Reaver shouted suddenly.

"Shut U-"

"NOW!"

Rayla ducked just as Reaver pulled the trigger on his pistol, the bullet blazed over her head and struck the commander with incredible force. Dust exploded all over her and she had to cough a little from the contaminated air and quickly roll to the side as one of the large swords nearly fell on top of her.

"What the Void, Reaver!? I could have made it," Rayla huffed in anger, stabbing another hollow man through its empty eye socket before lopping its skeletal head off.

"No, you wouldn't have. You were too busy with those smaller stiffs," he said haughtily, killing two more hollow men of his own with one well-aimed bullet.

Another large wisp descended into the ground and the earth at their feet trembled a little.

"Oh good, another one. Come here, my pet," Reaver said, reloading his pistol.

Rayla ran over to his side and raised her cutlass, ready to shield him or to attack the commander that was now rising from the ground, the shimmering light in its empty sockets burning with rage.

The monstrosity was probably the biggest one the queen had ever seen. And it was angry—whatever spirit that thing had been born from had been exceptionally wronged.

Reaver took immediate aim at the smaller hollow men, making droves of them shatter with only a few bullets, but the commander was rushing at them, unchallenged.

"Time for strategy, I think," Reaver muttered seemingly to no one in particular while he holstered his Dragonstomper.

Rayla's mouth dropped in alarm for a moment at his carelessness until she saw him place his hands together and hold them extended to her, palms up.

Clearly, she was going to pay for the damage to his gloves, but the raging monster was leaving them little choice. She took a step back before running at Reaver, aptly jumping onto his hands, one of hers grabbing at his shoulder to steady herself right before he threw her at the advancing giant.

Rayla landed perfectly onto the enormous commander's shoulders, immediately wrapping her legs around his skeletal neck as she tried to hew through the bone with her cutlass.

Reaver was back to shooting the weaker hollow men, ducking and dodging as he moved over the field of battle.

The monster on whom she was perched appeared to pay her no mind as he headed instead after Reaver, and Rayla had to put all her strength into pulling her cutlass towards her with both hands.

She had a moment to appreciate the sound of crackling bone, before she had to duck backwards with her upper body and avoid her own blade sweeping her in half.

Skeletal seat crumbling and unbalanced by her body's movement, she fell backwards, but didn't hit the ground as a pair of strong hands whipped around her, swung her around and placed her teetering onto her feet.

Rayla had a moment to cough the dust from her lungs and steady herself, while Reaver stood dusting himself off.

"Shall we head to the next room then?" he asked, digging around in a pocket and bringing out some silver bullets.

Rayla walked over to him and took a handful. They were pure silver—balverines would be next then.

Rayla reloaded her pistol and followed Reaver into the new room. The rippling snarl notified them that they were late to the party already. Four glittering eyes stared at them from the shadows, slowly creeping closer.

Rayla watched as the two large, brown beasts snuck closer, tails twitching from side to side, claws at the ready.

A loud howl sounded on the opposite side of the room, alerting them to the presence of another two balverines.

Reaver took aim right away, sniping the first two between the eyes, the beasts screeching horrific growls, still advancing until they each got another two bullets to their brains.

Rayla ran at the other two, swinging her cutlass and cleanly slicing the head right off the first one, a spray of blood fountaining into the air. She was vaguely aware of another balverine trying to sneak up on Reaver while she attacked her remaining one. The creature seemed slightly more vicious than it had before, apparently having realized the threat.

Rayla dodged backwards, the claws of the balverine ripping through her shirt and shredding open the part covering her stomach, but luckily not her skin.

The balverine scratched at the queen again, narrowly missing her flesh, but slamming an arm into her with such power that it sent her flying onto her back against the ground.

Coughing from the sudden lack of air in her lungs, Rayla was able to notice the balverine rushing at her downed form, and Reaver immediately rounding on it, having just killed his own.

He let out a feral growl of rage, hacking with force at the balverine, slicing an arm from its body with a nauseating sound of tearing flesh and a geyser of blood.

Even minus one arm, the beast refused to relent its pursuit and Rayla had barely enough time to scamper out of the way as Reaver's glistening silver cutlass' blade protruded from its chest in quick succession.

Rayla stared at the blood pooling around it, seeping out towards her and heard two more howls.

"Up we go, love," Reaver said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her upright. "We shall have time for lying around later."

They watched as two, huge white balverines jumped down from their hiding places and stalk towards them on both sides.

"Shit," Reaver muttered, dodging the fierce claws of the first, howling, white balverine.

"Reaver! Why the hell are there two white balverines!?" Rayla shouted, ducking as one of the beasts swiped at her. She backed right up against Reaver's back. Back to back they had a much safer chance of getting out of this still in one piece.

"Some imbecile must not have kept a check on them, just shut up and stab it already!" Reaver shouted with a snarl, cutlass in one hand hacking at the beast that tried to rip him apart and shooting at it with his Dragonstomper in his other hand.

Rayla struck the balverine that was snapping at her in the nose with her cutlass, slicing a deep cut across its face, the blood spewing down, and pooling in and dripping with saliva from its mouth.

A loud, piercing howl rent the room and for a moment all four of the current occupants looked to see what it was. A third, enormous, white furred balverine was advancing on them.

"Oh goddamn it!" Reaver cursed in exasperation.

Rayla, herself, wasn't too keen on the outcome of this battle anymore. Two white balverines were a dilemma, three in a group was unheard of—and that was what faced them now.

"Reaver, if we die here today," Rayla breathed through her teeth, "I swear my ghost is going to haunt yours for _for-fucking-ever_!"

"Oh, _shut up_ with your _whining_! You should know that _my_ ghost would never mind such a thing, but do make sure to wear something _ravissant_," Reaver drawled, a slight tone of annoyance and unsteadiness to his voice, but a smirk crawled across his face still.

"We could die here, you asshole!" Rayla shouted at him as she stabbed at the balverine that was trying to scratch her face off.

"Well...," Reaver trailed off with a grunt, kicking the balverine closest to him in the ribs while swinging a cut at its head.

In retrospect, he actually had to admit to the opposite, he hadn't felt as alive as he did now—fighting next to the queen—in long years of his life. It was quite invigorating, having such a capable battle partner next to him.

Rayla dodged another flurry of claws, escaping with minimum damage—a thin, sting burned across her cheek. She slashed at the balverine with all her fury, hacking off one of its ears in the process. The stinking beast howled in pain and rapidly struck at her. She went sprawling backwards on the floor once more, feeling something crack inside—it was likely a rib—and gasped sharply from the pain.

As the beast descended on her, a thunderous shot reverberated throughout the room. The balverine advancing on her stumbled forward, steaming crimson blood gushed from the gaping hole in its temple and she promptly stuck her cutlass into its heart, twisting the blade and ducking out of the way when its corpse fell to the ground.

She had half a moment to see the other one advancing on her, but the scene on the far end of the room drew her immediate attention.

Rayla's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open into a wordless cry of shock as she watched the balverine essentially throw the aristocrat the length of the room, and she stormed over to his side to block the still enraged balverine, hoping that the other one wouldn't interfere too soon.

"Ow, fuck...," Reaver trailed off, getting back up onto his feet, a hand clutching at his side for a moment before he picked up his cutlass.

Rayla figured the throw had likely damaged some of his ribs and hoped the damage was not extensive. She had realized before that they had, foolishly, not brought any health potions with them into battle, but then, neither of them had expected to face off against three white balverines.

She had no more time to ponder this as the two balverines rushed at them again. Rayla hacked at the lunging balverine, its claws raking her arm and leaving 3 very long, but thankfully not too deep, gashes as a scream of pain left her lips.

Reaver bellowed a cry of outrage and swiftly stabbed the offending balverine in the eye with his cutlass, wrenching it out as he drew back.

The balverine let out a screech of agony, a claw coming up to the wound and that's when Rayla struck. Her cutlass went slashing through the thing's mouth, cutting deep and coming stuck at the back of its skull as it crumpled into a pile on the ground.

She ripped the cutlass back out, ignoring the spray of fur and bloody bits of flesh. Her arm stung like all hell and made her retaliation action seem rather reasonable.

Rayla watched Reaver duck the lashing claws of the last balverine just in time. Apparently he must have misjudged his first dodge while she had been killing the other one—four deep cuts adorned his upper left arm.

Reaver swung his cutlass and brought it upwards with such force that one of the beast's claws went flying, the angered howling turning into a shrill screech of anguish as the beast backed off from him.

"That'll teach you to scratch at your betters, you stinking piece of _filth_," Reaver growled, his voice sounded edged by fury and pain. Reaver drew out his Dragonstomper and looked down the barrel as he pulled the trigger, shooting the thing right between the eyes.

The last of the balverines fell into a screeching, reeking, bloody bundle. Another deafening gunshot and the screeching grew silent. Reaver promptly spit at the corpse.

Rayla turned to look over at him. He was a mess—to say the least—covered in blood and torn clothes, but she was quite sure that most of the blood wasn't actually his. She was likely looking no better herself.

The instant Reaver noticed the queen's eyes on his form, he holstered his Dragonstomper and strode over to her, plucking her up from the ground and into his arms, hands resting on her bottom to keep her steady against him.

His lips came crashing down on hers with a domination and strength she hadn't ever seen in him before. Only when she finally relented to him, did he soften the kiss a little.

Drawing back from the kiss, she felt the tip of his tongue lick over her lower lip, a devious glitter sparkling in his eyes.

Rayla couldn't help but to smile at the handsome rogue, his hair was utterly disheveled, his clothes were in tatters, and a smear of blood stained his cheek along with the thin cut it seeped out from, but the hazel eyes were bright with exhilaration.

Rayla slid herself down his body, the flicker of a frown marring his features for a moment, until she ripped the remaining shreds of his shirt from him. _That_ action obviously _delighted_ him.

"I'm _never_ doing that again," she said softly, bringing a hand up to feel at her own cut cheek.

"Why not? I actually thought it was a fair bit of fun," Reaver replied with a dashing grin.

"Says the aristocrat drenched in blood," Rayla replied, cocking an eyebrow.

"And you reek of balverine too, my sweet," Reaver said, wrinkling his nose a little as he held her close before turning towards the door.

"RUFUS!" Reaver shouted, picking the queen back up in his arms. "Prepare a bath immediately! If I get there and it isn't ready, I'll shoot anyone in the vicinity! And have someone clean up this mess!"

Reaver burst out of the Wheel of Misfortune room and carried his prize up the stairs, taking them two at a time and ignoring the ache of his ribs. He had likely cracked at least two and broken one of them in battle, but there were healing potions in his room that would fix all their injuries.

The upper part of the mansion seemed to be deadly quiet, not a servant in sight. Clearly, when Reaver made a threat he carried out on it, nothing else could bring such unfaltering loyalty to staff.

They entered the bedroom, Reaver shutting the door with his foot.

Rayla was still busy kissing and nipping playfully at the side of his neck, she could feel his fingers dig into her back a little in response as he carried her over to the _en suite_ bathroom.

Steamy tendrils were curling into the air from the ivory marble bath built onto the floor, as well as from two separate bowls of water. Bathrobes and cloths to wash with had already been laid out.

Reaver placed the queen on her feet onto the ground, discarding his gloves, taking a hold of the shirt she wore and ripping it, buttons flying everywhere, before he carefully took it off of her, taking care to mind her wounds.

Rayla gently allowed the fingers of one hand to curl into his messy hair while her other hand held onto his shoulder to steady herself as he knelt before her and began unlacing and taking off her boots.

Getting back onto his feet after he finished with her boots, he swiftly kicked his own off, his eyes running over the bare-chested, bloodstained beauty who was now unbuttoning his pants. He allowed his eyes to drink in every part of her form, barely aware of the touch of the clothing pooling at his feet.

There was a purpling bruise at her left side, definitely a cracked rib or two. Three gashes marred her right arm and a scratch glistened in red on her left cheek. There was a prominent stain of wetness against the black of her pants too.

Reaver, stepping away from his clothes, immediately helped her out of the pair of his pants that she was wearing, a hiss leaving her lips. Two deep cuts ran along her outer left thigh.

"_Mon petit sucre_," Reaver breathed softly, his hand running along her side and pulling back at her wince of pain. "Let's fix all that before it can scar."

Reaver picked up the two Dragonstompers from the floor, walked over to a small chest on a table in the bathroom and placed the pistols on the table before he pulled out three small, pale red bottles, decorated with swirling white glass. Health potions.

Rayla took one from him and gladly gulped the liquid down while he mimicked the action.

Reaver took one of the soft cloths and wet it with some of the liquid from the remaining bottle, dabbing it against the queen's wounds. She hissed angrily in pain at the action.

"Hush," Reaver said in a commanding tone. "I've seen what you're capable of, so don't whine over this now."

Rayla glared at him, biting her lip to keep from making a sound as the liquid burned like fire in the wounds. She watched him drip some more onto the cloth and dab it against her cheek. He repeated the action on his own and poured the remainder of the bottle out onto the wounds on his arm, a hiss of displeasure left him.

Rayla grinned in reply, looking as triumphant as a cat who had stolen milk and gotten away with it. "Now, now, Reaver, don't _whine_. Take it like a man."

Reaver narrowed his eyes, grabbing the back of her head and forcing her lips against his. The kiss distracted him from the absolutely odd, tingling feeling of his body repairing the damage with help from the health potions.

He could still feel the skin closing, knitting itself together again, and kissed the queen with more passion, tilting his head to the side a bit.

Rayla wrapped her arms around Reaver's neck, trying her best to focus on the dominant tongue rubbing against hers in her mouth and not the prickling feeling of her wounds being healed. The potion had sent a delicious numbing feeling to ease the pain from the wounds, but exterior wounds being healed always felt peculiar—almost like a feather continuously dragging across badly sun burnt skin.

Pulling back from the kiss, she smiled kindly at him. Both their breathing was ragged, but their wounds had healed up, not even a scar remaining.

Rayla picked up one of the cloths and dipped it into one of the bowls of steamy water, before gently scrubbing the blood from his right cheek. She took some time to admire the high cheekbones, her fingers brushing against them softly.

Reaver stilled momentarily. He hated having people in his face—unless there was kissing involved, of course—and the action would normally have been met with a bullet between the offender's eyes, but the queen's touch was tender, almost compellingly so. He picked up a cloth and began to repeat the action, carefully washing the most of the blood from the her body.

Once the blood was mostly washed off and both bowls' water swirling in red, Reaver climbed into the hot bath, pulling the queen in with him.

Her naked form rested back against his chest as he washed her properly with a cloth now, his hands lingering much longer in certain places than others. His breath brushed warmly against her ear as he nipped at her earlobe and chuckling merrily when she shivered against him.

He wasn't quite sure if he had admired her appearance well enough the previous times he had had her naked near him.

She was lean with slender muscles, so much unlike her mother—he would tell her of her mother, some day—who had been much more muscled with her skill in Strength. The dark brown hair had the slightest touch of auburn to it when it came to the light as it spilled, untamed down her shoulders. Her skin was fair, soft, and unblemished but for a barely noticeable, thin scar on her lower back. Her lips were generally thin, but now rosy and swollen from their kissing as her head rested against his shoulder.

He'd often heard that one could tell a lot about a woman's personality from looking at their lips. Hers held the very misleading image of being shy and modest, hiding her true capabilities. It also portrayed a personality exceptionally aware of small details and one that could be very kind and loving towards those who proved their loyalty.

Her eyes bespoke so much more of that—almond-shaped and turning up the slightest bit like a cat, and brilliantly blue. They attributed to an energetic personality, filled with rational thought, having immense vitality, a gift for insight and observation even while apt to being forceful and direct.

In all aspects, he found _that_ personality perfectly suited to compliment his own.

He continued to let his mind trail off with all of these little thoughts as he brushed the cloth over the queen's skin, washing away the remaining blood and dirt from the fight.

Rayla turned in the bath, getting onto her knees before Reaver and picking up another cloth and returned the favor of cleaning.

He had another moment to himself, admiring how gentle she was while washing him. Her actions were sometimes so very contradicting—she was so fiery and forceful, but so sweet and gentle when she deemed it fit.

He stopped her movements, pulling her hands into his and bringing his lips up to hers, placing a soft, tempting kiss to them. "I think we are clean enough now, my sweet," he murmured, getting up and pulling her up with him. He got out and held a bathrobe out for her, she stepped into it quietly and he wrapped it around her, his hands rubbing the fabric to dry her. He paid no mind to the amount of water that he was dripping to the floor himself.

"Mmm, you are exquisite, _ma chère_," Reaver said, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

"And you are soaking... but very handsome, I suppose," the queen replied softly, grabbing the remaining bathrobe and doing her best to drape it around him.

The queen kept at her poor attempt to dry him for only a while before she appeared to get distracted again. Her fingers were softly running over the contours of his muscles, a frown was forming on her features and she seemed somewhat hesitant, her shoulders tensing.

"I...," Rayla trailed off.

Reaver dipped a finger beneath her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. "I know what you're thinking, _ma belle_. You think that we are so very different... and then there's my reputation and all the stories people tell... Well, at least you know that it won't get boring, _Rae_," he whispered, a smirk spreading across his face.

Rayla looked deeply into his eyes, wondering if they were indeed all that different lately. She wasn't sure if he was just growing on her or not, but being near him thrilled her. No other man before him had been able to do that. Her nickname sounded much too sultry the way he said it though, but she liked that too.

Her fingers slowly continued their trail down his chest, and then, down too low.

Reaver grabbed at her, bathrobe slipping from his shoulders as he pushed her to the wall. The bathrobe covering her fell to the floor without a second thought.

Reaver picked her up into his arms, her legs wrapping securely around his waist as he pushed her back up against the wall. His lips met hers with a fierce need, his tongue instantly forcing its way into her mouth.

Rayla kissed back, fire igniting low in the pit of her stomach, making her arch against his body and away from the cold wall, her breasts pressing up against his bare chest.

Reaver let out a desperate groan. "I was going to wait for the bed, _mon ange_... but this will have to do now... Just let go, _amour_."

Rayla was barely aware of him lifting her a little higher against the wall, before pulling down on her hips, a loud gasp escaping her when he buried his aching arousal inside her to the hilt with one stroke.

Reaver remained still for a moment to let her adjust to him, though the feeling of the moist warmth wrapped so tightly around him nearly drove him very insane.

His hands promptly moved to her behind, fingers digging into the skin a little as he helped move her up and down on his hardness, crashing into her and practically hissing with pleasure.

Her fingers tangled back into his disordered and damp hair, the strands felt like silk between her fingers, and her mouth quickly found his again.

She would follow his advice and just let it all go.

Reaver was mildly surprised at the dominance the queen kissed him with, her tongue having forced its way into his mouth and fighting for dominance with his, after a while he relented some control to her.

When she finally drew back from the kiss, Reaver gently nipped at her bottom lip, before turning his attention to kissing and biting down the side of her neck.

Rayla's breath hitched in her throat and she tightened her legs around his hips, her fingers were digging into his shoulders a little.

Reaver smiled against her shoulder, nipping at it sharply and drawing a shocked gasp from her, it only made him grin more.

He moved to rest them down on the ground, clutching her close against his body as they tumbled onto the soft bathrobes that lay discarded on the floor.

Reaver was still pushing himself deeply into her with every thrust. His mouth had found her breasts and he was lathering them in warm, wet attention as his hands rubbed gently at her back, keeping her body in an arched position against his.

Her fingers trailed lightly through his dark locks, and the feeling soothed him as much as the rest of her body drove him insane. As if to unintentionally accentuate that thought, her hips moved up to grind against his.

A loud moan of excitement left his throat and he drove deeper into her, her own moans of delight increasing it volume.

He continued thrusting into her, drawing more moans and breathy cries of bliss from her. His hands had occupied themselves with exploring her writhing body beneath him.

He could feel himself becoming undone, her enthusiastic thrusts upwards against his was driving him towards the edge.

Rayla gasped and shut her eyes tightly while her orgasm rippled through her body, making her toes curl in delight.

Reaver was making all sorts of breathless, sexy noises above her as he followed her off the edge right after.

Rayla shivered underneath him as he softly moaned her name against her ear, breathless and trembling from his own release.

Eventually, they had finally made their way over to the bed and the soft crimson sheets felt comforting and lascivious against her back at the same time.

Reaver was on top of her, some of his weight resting on his arms, the rest pressed firmly down on her. He kissed her lips gently, biting playfully at them.

She accepted his invitation instantly, arms whipping around and forcing his head down to give her what she wanted.

He kissed her deeply, arms snaking down underneath her calves and brining them up onto his shoulders. She squirmed a little underneath him, but he silenced her movements with a little more force to his kiss.

Rayla couldn't help but melt a little at his dominance, he was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but he had never once hurt her and there were even moments when he was shockingly tender with her.

Reaver broke from the kiss, licking at his lower lip a bit and positioned himself against the queen. Her eyes were still misty with need as she looked up at him and a throaty moan left her as he pushed himself in deeply.

A soft grunt of pleasure left his own mouth before he leant down to gently kiss at her shoulder. He watched her eyes close while she enjoyed the affection and he set about a slow and torturous pace for a while, pushing deeply into her and pulling out slowly.

Rayla moaned loudly, unabashedly, his actions were only stoking the fire she felt inside to a blazing all-consuming inferno.

Her moans grated at his span of patience, breaking it down steadily and soon he dropped her legs from his shoulders, letting them slip back around his waist as he pulled her up against him, leaning backwards a little into a sitting position he kept steady with one hand resting on the bed.

Rayla wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, her breasts pressing up against his chest as they enjoyed each other. The friction caused by the close position was driving her over the edge and she gasped in pleasure.

Reaver could feel her hands at his back, her nails slightly digging into his skin as she lost herself in the passion between them. He enjoyed the feeling.

He could feel her muscles starting to tighten around his hard length. He enjoyed that even more and the feeling forced a languid sound of delight from him, bringing him so much closer to his own climax. The queen was trembling against him, moaning his name while deep in the throes of pleasure.

Reaver tilted her face towards his so that he could watch her while she was in the throes of passion. The queen certainly did not disappoint. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed and her breasts heaved with every breath—it was quite mesmerizing to behold.

Reaver let out a growl of pleasure, his hips bucking underneath the queen as he spilt himself inside her and allowed them to collapse next to each other on the bed, breathing heavily and trembling slightly.

Rayla, starting to return to her senses, snuggled up against his side, a finger gently tracing down the center of his heaving chest and a smile playing across her lips. "Oh, was that it then? I think I was expecting a bit more from the Infamous Reaver," she said, sounding mischievously disappointed.

Reaver gave a playful growl in response, grabbing her and pulling her up on top of him, his hands resting on her hips. "I was just catching my breath, love."

A grin spread across his lips as the queen gave an elated squeal when his words proved to be true with undeniable evidence pressing up against her.

"Your turn, _mon petit trèsor_," Reaver whispered huskily, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

Rayla rested her hands against his chest, helping her to keep her balance. She was ardently aware of the hardness pressing against her entrance.

Reaver's eyes were dark, lust swirling unhidden in the dark brown orbs, his breath was still slightly ragged and the expression on his face looked needy and tortured.

She would have enjoyed tempting him longer and do nothing that he wanted, but she wanted him too—she needed more of him. She was a moth to the flame and he was devouring her, but she couldn't bring herself to care. He made her feel alive, something she wondered if she still was as issue after issue piled onto her shoulders.

Her heart was drumming in her chest and she could feel his beat just as quickly beneath her palm, their breathing heavy and ragged together.

A primal growl left him as she pushed down, allowing him to slide inside again, and his fingers dug almost painfully into her sides, but he did nothing to rush her movements yet. Rayla leaned down and softly kissed up his chest and along his jaw, stopping short of his lips.

Releasing one of his hands from her hips, Reaver forced her mouth to his, fingers gripping into her tangled brown tresses. His devouring kiss relayed the urgency of his need, his hips grinding up against her to emphasize it. She was hot and moist, and she was driving him off the edge of sanity.

A soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips, and Rayla conceded to his will some, moving her hips in a slow torturous motion that drew a groan of pleasure from him, but his patience crumbled quickly.

Reaver gripped her hips tightly as he thrust up into her, the queen gasped in response, making him smirk. "If you're willing to tease, _mon ange_, you should be willing to handle the consequences."

"Are you?" Rayla asked softly, her voice a throaty whisper.

Reaver turned his head to the side a little, confused, but his eyes widened and loud groan of bliss tumbled from his lips as the queen tightened her muscles around him.

The queen smiled deviously as his breath hitched a little and his thrusting increased in pace. "Why, you cunning little minx," he purred, placing his hands on her back, before rolling her over onto her back, ending up on top of her again. He took her rough and fast then, and she came screaming his name.

His queen had come quite a distance since the night he'd taken her virginity. '_And that had been what, only three days ago?_' he mused to himself while making himself comfortable next to her.

Reaver pulled the queen into his arms, crushing her up against his chest and pulling a sheet over them. "I think I've likely ruined you for any other man now, my sweet," he said, breathing heavily against the top of her head.

Rayla immediately elbowed him in the side and was rewarded with a grunt of discomfort.

"Ow," he murmured, removing a hand from her to rub at his still tender ribs. "Well, if it's any consolation, _ma chère_, you might have very well ruined me for any other woman too."

He wasn't exactly happy in admitting that little tidbit of truth, but it was in fact, true. Nothing could hold up with a Hero's stamina, and now that he had had a proper taste to match his own, he felt that any other woman—man too probably—after this would pale terribly in comparison. More than likely being dreadfully boring and tiring out much too soon.

Plus, there was the warm comfort he felt with the Hero queen snuggled against his side that he was sure he wouldn't be able to quite replicate. No one had ever proved even worthy of touching the sheets of the bed in his bedroom—the fun activities usually happened in a different room—and he had never allowed anyone to stay the remainder of the night with him when he slept, unless he'd passed out. Those he woke up to then were usually greeted with a bullet.

He wasn't relatively certain if he should be feeling as triumphant as he did, or if he should feel more vulnerable. He had never awarded a woman with the constant attention that he was doting on the queen.

In the beginning it seemed like a perfect idea for him to get in her good graces, gain a position of power, and get her in bed at least once. He had achieved all of that now, some of it more than once, but there was something else... something he wasn't quite sure how he felt about.

_Possession_. She was _his_, and he wouldn't let another man get even close to what he had experienced with her.

'_But, why?_' he pondered. Perhaps because she had been his greatest triumph just yet, or maybe it was just that the remainder of pirate in him refused to share any treasure he found.

Rayla was barely aware of Reaver's grip tightening around her, holding her possessively against his body, a slight frown creeping over his face.

Generally, she would have asked what the matter was, but she was too content and tired to really care or give it much thought.

Reaver glanced down to see the queen's eyes droop shut, her body becoming more limp in his arms as she settled into sleep. Perhaps she had the right idea and he could contemplate these worries on another day. He closed his eyes, still clutching the queen to him as he drifted off.

* * *

Rayla snuggled up closer against Reaver's naked form, his arms holding her against his body as he kissed the top of her head.

The morning sunlight was streaming through a half-closed curtain. It was still early, but they would need to get ready to return to the castle. The matter of rebuilding the Old Quarter would be discussed and settled in court today. He was to stand against Page in this matter and he was sure that he would succeed. Not because the queen was so nakedly draped over his body, but because the choice was common sense.

"_Mon ange_," Reaver murmured, sleep promptly falling away, "we need to get up. We are expected at the castle and there is the matter of court today."

"No," Rayla said, snuggling her head right back into the crook of his neck.

Reaver blinked for a moment in surprise. She was refusing to get up and out of bed from him? This was new.

"Come now, we have an important matter to settle in court," he said, pushing up into a sitting position—the action was met with a disgruntled growl.

"Rae, it's time to get up. Do you plan on just lazing the day away uselessly in bed?" he asked, half-amused, half-annoyed. Perhaps this had been the reason why he never allowed anyone to remain in his bed, and perhaps this was a good reason to not drag the same people back to bed again. If he didn't know any better, he might have been irritated at the apparent lack of respect to priorities. Of course, life was meant for fun and to be enjoyed...but certain things had to come first.

Anyone else would have been thrown out of his mansion, naked even, or far better, been shot in the head and left for his servants to scrub off the floors.

"Yes," came the reply.

Rayla was fully aware that she was acting like a child, but she was the queen and right now she didn't quite care. The night had exhausted her to her core, but she was happy and leisurely snuggled in a warm, soft bed. She wondered if her actions would have any more success on Reaver than they had on Jasper. Jasper had never given in when she acted like this.

"Well, Your Majesty," Reaver said imperiously, climbing out of bed. "If you are really that used to having servants rouse you from bed, I suppose I can call Rufus in here."

"No!" the queen shouted, jumping up into a sitting position and looking thoroughly irritated over it. "I'm content and exhausted, Reaver, and this bed is warm and comfortable. Page is just going to whine and try to turn the people against me and piss me off doing so. So why should I get out of this bed?"

It was a good question he had to admit, but knowing Page and the impoverished people of Bowerstone, a decision had to be made and putting it off wouldn't have any desirable effect.

"If we go to court today, you can watch me put the Sewer Rat in her place, and then I shall clear your schedule for the rest of the day," he said, walking back over to her and pulling her out of the bed. He very nearly changed his own mind about staying in bed right then.

Rayla saw the look of indecision cross briefly over his features and decided to play on it at once. She definitely didn't feel like the meeting with Page today.

Rayla looked up at him through her long lashes and stood up on her toes against his tall frame, her arms wrapping lightly around his neck and her lips the measure of a hair from his as her breasts pressed up against his bare chest.

That was it, his self-control collapsed, as did they, back into the luxurious sheets of the enormous bed.

* * *

Rayla sat quietly while nibbling on the savory bread roll that she held in her hands.

Reaver watched her with a look of amusement clearly written across his face. She had insisted on grabbing one from the table as they passed the dining room on their way out of the mansion.

"Enjoying your breakfast, _ma chère_?" he asked, a grin plastered to his face.

Rayla looked up from her nibbling and pulled a bit of a face. "It's a little dry," she murmured, sounding slightly disappointed.

Reaver chuckled, the merriment sparkling even more in his eyes than before. "Well, _mon ange_, if you had not forced us back into bed, we would not be running late and we could have had a lovely breakfast."

The look she gave him bespoke volumes of the thin ice he was treading on and it positively thrilled him, but he too had noticed that he felt rather peckish. Their lunch had been a disaster, they had been too preoccupied to have dinner, and they were running too late for court to have had breakfast.

"Fret not, my sweet," he said, still grinning at her, "I shall have the cooks prepare us a delectable breakfast for once we have finished with this matter in court."

"Please," she said while finishing her bread roll.

Reaver nodded and pulled out some papers.

Rayla, having finished her bread roll by now and cleaned her hands on a handkerchief, was bored. The scenery outside she knew like the back of her hand and the ride was too quiet all at once. Before, she would have preferred a quiet carriage ride with Reaver, but after the events of late, she found that she grew bored easily when the Industrialist was quietly busy with other things.

Reaver was silently sitting opposite the queen, his legs elegantly crossed over each other while he was looking through the papers he had pulled out, apparently deep in concentration.

Rayla impatiently drummed her fingers against the window sill of the carriage, looking outside again before caving and turning back to Reaver. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Reaver peeked at her over the tops of pages he held in his hand, she looked absolutely restless and it was grating on his nerves a little. "I'm looking through finances," he replied.

He noticed the disappointed and disinterested look that crossed her face at once. He heaved a sigh before speaking again. "Would you like to take a nap then, my pet?"

The queen nodded and he held open his arm, which she promptly curled up in, resting her head against his chest. At least he could go back to looking over his profits and losses without a disturbance now, the queen having almost instantly fallen asleep against him.

* * *

******Author's Note**:** Please Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, let me know. Your reviews and responses are what keeps me going.**


	7. Accustomed

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though._

******Author's Note**:** This is basically a filler chapter. It outlines some decisions the queen had made concerning her kingdom, nearing the end of it, there is a decided time-jump which brings us closer to the chapters I have been dying to get at since I started this story.**

**There is also mention of Reaver's ship, the ****_Revenge_****, over which I will go into explicit detail in oncoming chapters. Soon things will start going to hell and this story will take the turn it has always been meant to take, right off the ledge...**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN:**

_**ACCUSTOMED**_

* * *

Rayla jumped awake, the sound of a gunshot still making her ears ring and smoke stinging her nose.

Reaver was half-hanging outside the carriage door, Dragonstomper .48 in hand, smoke trailing from its barrel.

"Ambush," he said, holding another of the pistols out to her, behind him, without turning to look at her.

She accepted the Dragonstomper and peeked through the window on her side. She could make out the shadows of two people hiding in the bushes and the glint of metal.

Reaver fired another shot and a scream echoed loudly.

"You ought to get some guards to patrol these roads, not everyone can be as prepared as we," he said, an unpleasant smile curling his lips as he fired two more shots and received two more agonized screams as reward.

Rayla ducked in time as a bullet hit the carriage, splintering some of the wood. She retaliated with the pistol and the two mercenaries storming at the carriage fell one after the other onto the cobblestones, painting the road in red.

Reaver dodged another two bullets fired at them and retaliated, the shots thundering from his pistol and raining death on their foes.

The forest grew quiet again and Reaver climbed out of the carriage, dusting some splinters from his coat. He cursed loudly once he was outside. "Brilliant, just brilliant. And I was just starting to break the driver in too," he muttered to himself.

Rayla climbed out of the carriage and surveyed the area. The driver lay dead at the front of the carriage, one of the carriage wheels were splintered beyond repair and one of the horses lay dead as well. The other one was alive and stomping its hooves in defiance and fear.

Reaver walked over to the big, black stallion and placed a hand to its muzzle. "Hush, it's over now. Looks like we'll have to ride to the castle instead."

He cut the unnecessary harness attachments keeping the horse to the carriage and promptly climbed onto its back.

Rayla looked over at him, slightly skeptical. "You can ride a horse? Bareback?"

Somehow the idea of Reaver even getting onto a saddled horse, much less one with no saddle at all, both amused and amazed her. She always figured the idle aristocrat to just lounge back in carriages while everything else did the work. Riding a horse bareback often took great balance, skill, and coordination—obviously Reaver had those qualities, but still.

"Of course," he replied, looking a little indignant. "Come on then."

Rayla took the offered hand and allowed him to help her onto the horse, his arms coming around her and holding her steady in front of him. He swiftly dropped his walking stick onto her lap.

"Don't lose that." Reaver gave the horse a pat against the neck and tutted gently as he nudged the horse's sides, sending them cantering off along the road.

Rayla was even more grateful for the outfit she had been given for the day. She could only imagine having needed to ride on horseback while wearing a dress.

Instead she had gotten a pair of finely tailored black pants that clung to her legs and easily fit into her knee-high boots, a fancy blue and golden long sleeved top with puffed shoulders, and a pair of black gloves. A simplistic outfit, but one that still looked every bit as noble and regal as people might have come to expect.

The ride didn't take too long, and soon the horse came clattering its hooves up to the castle gates. The guards immediately allowed them to pass and Reaver brought the horse to a standstill close to the castle doors. He climbed off first and picked the queen up off the horse, placing her unsteadily on her feet.

Rayla winced a little. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been on horseback, and after the ride she tried hard not to walk bow-legged. Reaver would probably be unable to contain himself at that.

As he handed the horse over to some of the servants, loud raucous barking drew her attention. Ember stormed at the queen, nearly jumping her to the ground. Clearly, she had been wondering just where her mistress had gone.

"Whoa there, girl," Rayla said, bending and scratching behind the excited Alsatian's ears.

Ember proceeded to vigorously sniff at her, circling her at least three times before sniffing the air and promptly turning on Reaver.

He bent a little and offered a hand to stroke the dog, but Ember had a different idea, instantly snapping at his hand. He came out of it unscathed, but decidedly gloveless as Ember ran off with one of the his black, leather gloves.

Generally, he would have reached for his Dragonstomper .48 and offed the offending animal with its rude manners and disrespect, but this mutt was his queen's. Instead, he settled for looking disgruntled and sounding quite slighted. "Your dog, _mon ange_, owes me a glove."

Rayla, having done very well at keeping her laughter concealed, only smiled at him before grabbing his other hand and pulling the glove off it as well—his hands looked soft and the nails immaculately trimmed and clean. "No, she doesn't. You have more than enough gloves, Reaver," she said, matter-of-factly.

Reaver quirked an eyebrow. "And just how would you know, Your Majesty?"

She cast him another thrilling smile and a gentle shrug. "Well, because I saw how many you had in the drawers along with your underwear when I was looking for something to wear."

"Oh, did you, now?" he asked, sounding a little bemused.

Rayla did her best to not look away from his face as she replied, "Mhm." It had of course not been the first time she been through his underwear and things, recalling a little errand she had once run for a completely, bat-shit crazy woman named 'Benjamina'.

"So _naughty_ of you to dig through others' possessions," he chided, but his eyes sparkled with mirth and his lips twisted into another grin as he hooked her arm into his.

"Your Majesty."

Rayla turned to see Walter walking up to them, his demeanor appeared a little more stiff than usual.

"Hello, Walter," Rayla greeted back.

Reaver merely tightened the grip of his arm around the queen's and gave the smallest amount of a nod in greeting.

Walter looked over at him with apparent disdain. "Reaver, why don't you rather let go of the queen?"

Rayla shook her head and held out a hand in refusal. "No, no. I would prefer for him not to, Walter. I'm fairly afraid if it is not for Reaver holding me upright on my feet, that I might pass out from exhaustion."

"Your Majesty?" Walter asked inquiringly.

Reaver cleared his throat, choosing that moment to interject himself into the conversation. "Her Majesty had decided that last night was apparently a very good time to look through some of the kingdom's finances. She had insisted we keep at it throughout the entire evening, leaving me unable to dissuade her, and thus we aren't likely to be on our best this morning."

"Is this true, Your Majesty?" Walter asked, scrutinizing the queen. "Just how are the kingdom's finances faring?"

Honestly, Rayla wasn't quite sure, she hadn't looked at any of the ledgers in a while, but Reaver came to the immediate rescue.

"Dismal," he replied, tapping his cane on the gravel in impatience. "I believe if we do not move along now, we shall be late for court. If you shall excuse us."

Reaver pulled gently, but firmly on the queen's arm, leading them towards the castle doors.

"Goodbye, Walter! Say hello to Ben for me!" the queen called over her shoulder while they took their leave.

Walter watched Reaver and the queen depart into the castle—side by side—and he couldn't help but to wonder if there was something going on that he was missing.

* * *

Reaver stopped short of the entrance to the throne room and turned to the queen. "Well, my dear, I think it might be best to enter separately now and avoid most of the drama."

Rayla unhooked her arm from Reaver and entered the throne room, head held high.

"Her Royal Majesty, Rayla, Queen of all Albion! Mister Reaver, Royal Advisor to Her Majesty!" the herald announced their presences to the court.

Rayla walked up the steps and took her seat on the golden throne, looking out at the people that were gathered.

Reaver walked up to his place beside Page, though separated decidedly a few feet from each other. "And Sewer Rat, voice of the poor," Reaver said, mockingly announcing it so that Page and perhaps a few of the closest people could hear. He had been grinning his usual smirk as they had entered the throne room, but as Page turned to glower at him, he positively beamed.

"I'm surprised Her Majesty made _you_ her advisor. What, did you sleep with her?" Page growled in a restrained whisper to him.

Reaver remained quiet as he focused his attention on the queen instead. The rat had no idea just how right her innocent assumption was, though he was quite sure his promotion had nothing to do with their amorous activities of late.

"I suggest we get this over with, Your Highness," he said while leaning on his cane a bit. "The matter for the day is the Rebuilding of the Bowerstone Old Quarter._ Page_, shall beg her request, and I, shall stand against its likely, _stupidity_."

"Your Majesty, our victory came at a great cost to the city and you haven't done much to improve the lives of your citizens. I ask that the Old Quarter be rebuilt and its former residents be re-homed," Page stated, ignoring the urge to retort at Reaver's mocking.

"You wouldn't just be helping those in great need. You'd be sending them a message. They're scared, Your Majesty, let them know that they can count on you."

And there it was, Page's triumph card, predictable as always. She always tried to get her way by guilt-tripping people into giving her what she wants.

Rayla allowed her eyes to slightly drift over to Reaver while Page was speaking, he was practically rolling his eyes at it all and appeared to instead amuse himself by committing to memory the detail of the chandelier above them until Page quieted.

"Your Highness, the Old Quarter was indeed quite devastated by your glorious triumph, but as its name subtly implies... it was _old_," Reaver replied, leaning even more on his cane.

"The cost of rebuilding the area would be a colossal waste of money and the people who called its decrepit shambles of streets and houses their home, are better off without it. Besides, one must question what they have to offer our society," Reaver continued with his standing point, tapping his cane on the carpet. "Why build homes for the inept and the unskilled? I recommend that you reject," he glanced over at Page and quirked the corners of his mouth in distaste, "_Page_'s proposal and keep the money for more deserving endeavors."

He was quiet for a short moment, appearing to be pondering something. "We can even turn the Old Quarter into a monument of your great victory, no negative publicity attached in the least."

Page rounded on Reaver, glaring up at the tall, smirking man. "You are just _despicable_!"

Reaver quirked an eyebrow the tiniest bit, looking uninterested with it all. "And you are _unrealistic_, though I suppose...," he let out a soft, bored sigh, "that has to be expected from someone living in sewers and having no knowledge of the real world."

"Your Majesty, we await your decision," he added, turning his gaze back to the queen.

Rayla sighed, Page was going to hate her for this, but there would be no helping it. Even though she herself had owned some buildings in the district in question, the kingdom didn't have the money to lend on its repairs at the time.

"Now is not the time to be building houses, we have other priorities that require our immediate attention. The request is denied. Court is dismissed."

The gathered crowd burst out into both cheers and jeers before making their way out of the throne room. The decision apparently being taken mostly neutral by the populace. One woman didn't take it neutral at all though and Rayla kept her eyes trained on Page while her answer sunk in.

"You _monster_," Page growled.

Reaver turned to his side to look disapprovingly at the woman. "Such _nerve_! Careful, or I might just have some of the royal guard remove that disrespectful tongue of yours. It clearly has little real use. Off you go then. Vamoose," he said, a smile playing on his lips as he made a shooing motion with his hands.

Page left the throne room, cursing vehemently and giving Reaver and the queen a parting glare.

Reaver merely rolled his eyes and walked up to the throne, offering the queen his arm again which she took gratefully and allowed him to pull her onto her feet. "Shall we be off to your study, My Liege?" he asked, pulling her up against his side as he made his way out of the throne room.

* * *

Rayla watched as Reaver stretched himself lazily out on the blue velvet chaise longue in her study. His hat and cane had been discarded on one of the chairs, his coat draping its backrest.

The Industrialist looked more casual than usual, having been previously divested of his gloves, and now remaining dressed in only his polished black boots, black pants, white dress shirt, his leather vest and the jeweled, black cravat at his neck.

The gentle scratching sound of pen against parchment was lulling him to sleep. He felt a little disconcerted at the fact that he felt as drowsy as he did. Perhaps it was to be expected though, they had hardly gotten more than three hours' worth of sleep and the breakfast the servants had served made him feel content again. Plus, he'd won against the Sewer Rat in court—it was to be expected, but still—and it definitely raised his spirits.

Rayla quietly signed the papers that validated her decision to keep the Guard Budget as it had been in her brother's reign, no matter the earlier occurrence of that day. She placed these on top of the papers arranging for her castle's redecoration. Reaver and herself had ended up deciding on red and gold colors. She also signed the forms detailing that a 'Children's Fine' be instituted. She had been unsure whether to maintain the policy her brother had kept or not, but Reaver had argued that since condoms are readily available to the populace, they could make sure to not keep breeding like rats by themselves and that a 'Children's Fine' might convince the populace to _not overpopulate_.

The last papers she signed authorized the decision to keep the 'Drinking Limit' her brother had introduced in his reign. Reaver had argued for a minute that the nobles alone should be allowed to drink however they wished, especially since they would pay for the choice, but she had firmly reminded him that it would keep the people's minds from the impending war and amicable enough to still work for him without too many riots. In the end he had conceded to her will.

Rayla put her pen down, careful not to smudge the still wet ink, and pushed her chair back as she got up. She quietly walked over to Reaver, who lazily opened one eye to look at her.

"May I join you?" she asked, softly.

Reaver scooted back the slightest bit and held an arm out. "Always, _ma chère_."

The queen curled up on the remaining space of the chaise. Her back was pressed tightly up against his chest and his free arm wrapped itself around her waist, gripping her possessively to him.

She felt the soft touch of warmth from his breathing against the top of her head as he rested his own head back on the pillow. She wasted no time in closing her eyes, the comforting embrace lulling her to sleep.

Placing a kiss to the top of her head, Reaver allowed himself to drift back into unconsciousness.

* * *

The queen appeared to have vanished all at once. No one had seen her since the session of court in the morning, but according to the guards she hadn't been seen leaving the castle either. There was only one place left she could be.

Hobson knocked once on the doors to the study and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty?"

The only answer that greeted him was silence, and so he pushed open the doors to the study. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Asleep on the blue chaise of the study was the queen... _and_ Reaver. Reaver had his arm around the queen's waist in what almost looked like a death grip as she slumbered with her head in his other arm. Neither stirred at his entrance and he decided to quickly and quietly back out again, closing the doors without a sound, lest Reaver wake and be the death of him.

Things were certainly starting to get interesting. How often does one fall asleep in the arms of one's advisor? He would keep this little piece of information quiet, and store it in the back of his mind. Who knows when something this scandalous could come in handy? Or just how much people would be willing to pay for such information.

'_Such endless possibilities_," the portly, little man thought to himself as he walked back down the hall.

* * *

The past few months had been increasingly busy, and the queen had become increasingly displeased with the people around her. She had proven herself capable of rationalism, diplomacy, cunning, and treachery lately. In a manner, he had become rather proud of her and quite a bit more interested. She was never too far from his side, unless business elsewhere drew them apart. He had also spent many nights in her bed in the past months, but tonight he was alone in the bedroom granted to him inside the castle.

Reaver looked through the stack of parchments, signing each of them for authorization. The queen had decided to rebuild Aurora, and acquiesced to his request of allowing him to build some factories there and reopen the mine, but not that the people work without any compensation as he would have preferred. Instead he had to settle for paying—low as they might be—wages to the workers. Kalin had begrudgingly agreed to this proposal in the end.

The next papers he signed happily. They were the deed papers to the newly built Bowerstone Brothel. The queen had given in to his proposal without any resistance. The brothel brought a lot of money into the Royal Treasury—and even into his own coffers—and kept the populace well distracted. Page had, of course, stormed out of the throne room, ranting and cursing, vowing that the queen would come to regret the day she had come into the rulership of the country. For his own amusement—and the queen's 'safety'—he had had some of the guards drag her off of the castle grounds.

The last parchments in need of signing were the ones detailing and authorizing the dumping of the Bowerstone sewage into Mourningwood. It had saved one of his factories and the Royal Treasury's finances, but brought on a decidedly angry hippie.

Reaver grinned to himself as he remembered the queen's expression as she sat next to him and they watched the little, flower-covered man rant. The queen had quite regally sat still, her expression rather somber as she bit down on her lip, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching and releasing the laughter she was keeping from bubbling out. After the man—and the rest of the court—had left, she had burst out into laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks and he had joined in with her infectious laughter. It had been the first amount of laughter he had seen from her in quite some time. She was beautiful when she laughed.

He sighed tiredly, and finished signing all of the papers, blowing the ink dry on the last. It had really been an exhausting day. The queen had called on his marksmanship earlier that day as well. She had accepted the bribe from a rather pathetic crime lord called Nigel Ferret—which had added another 100,000 gold to the Treasury—and he had shot the man down just as he had been about to run off. The queen had claimed that the ends will justify the means and he had agreed with her.

As he was placing the parchment on top of the stack of finished ones, a knock sounded at his door and he got up to answer it. A young page stood with a parcel in his hands and held it out to him, looking decidedly frightened. He took the parcel immediately and shooed the boy off without so much as a 'thank you'.

'_Who would be sending me something_?' he wondered casually as he made his way back over to the desk he had been sitting at. Once he reached the desk, he opened the parcel. Inside it, a dark, jagged, round seal glittered back up at him.

'_So the time has come again_,' he thought sourly to himself. He would need to send word to have his war frigate, the _Reaver's Revenge_ prepared to set sail in three months' time. He had been so busy with helping to advise the queen, that he hadn't even found a sacrifice yet. One of his crew would do in a pinch, if he couldn't find a suitable sacrifice before the time to depart comes.

He took out the object, mindful of its sharp edges, and placed it inside a velvet pouch which he promptly hid. He would need to make a trip back to his mansion in Millfields tomorrow to make sure the infernal thing remains safe until his voyage.

Sighing once more, he began undressing himself, paying little mind to the clothes as they fell into a haphazard pile onto the floor. After he was completely undressed and a yawn had forced its way from his lips, he walked back over to his bed and sank down into the soft sheets. He couldn't help but to make an appreciative sound as the soft covers nestled against his skin. He felt bone-tired for the first time in a very long time as he blew out the candle that tossed the bedroom into darkness.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, his bedroom doors opened. He immediately drew his pistol from under his pillow and cocked the trigger.

Rayla stiffened as she heard the cocking of a hammer, but closed the door quietly with her foot.

"What are you doing here?" Reaver asked, uncocking his Dragonstomper and putting it away again.

The queen was dressed in a flimsy nightgown, goose bumps appearing on her skin from the night's cool, and quickly climbed into bed next to him. She snuggled up against his chest as his arms wrapped around her form.

"My bed was empty and I didn't feel like being lonely," she said quietly, snuggling up more against his chest, letting the warmth of his body soothe hers.

He chuckled softly and tucked her head underneath his chin. "Such a difficult monarch to please. One moment you chase me from your bed, the next you feel lonely without me in bed."

"Oh, hush and go to sleep," she murmured.

Reaver merely chuckled to himself as he held her against him, closing his eyes again. He was too tired tonight to argue or do anything else for that matter. There was still three months left in which he could attempt to tire himself of her company. A feat which he was surprised had evaded him even now.

Rayla closed her eyes, cradled in the Industrialist's arms. She had become so accustomed to his presence in the months past, and even more so to his comforting warmth in bed next to her. Nestled in his arms she could forget about the problems that lay before her, at least until the sun rose again to herald a new day.

* * *

******Author's Note**:** Please Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, please let me know. Reviews and responses are what lets me know how my story is being received and keeps me going.**


	8. Withdrawn

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though._

**Author's Note**:** I'm really sorry that this chapter took so outrageously long to be posted. I've really hit a writer's block with this chapter and the two coming after this one, all of which I have been writing in bits and pieces for weeks now. I'm nearing the chapters that really tell this story and I'm excited to get to them, but the chapters until that time seem to be dragging a little bit. I'm sorry to keep everyone waiting though.**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

_**WITHDRAWN**_

* * *

Rayla pulled her boots off with an undignified grunt. Her outfit was bloodied and shredded in places, stained with mud, sticks, and bits of leaves.

The light of the setting sun being reflected upwards by Bower Lake danced upon the opposite wall and bathed her body in a warm light. She had come to Reaver's mansion instead of returning to the castle, in dire need of a bath, a change of clothes, something to eat, and some sleep.

She pulled the blue silk robe tightly around herself while waiting for the maid to prepare her bath. She felt so tired. The months since her coronation felt more difficult than her time as a rebel princess. Every day was like walking on a tight rope, one that was slowly starting to fray at the edges that kept it in place.

Just last week she had to think fast when it came to reopening Brightwall Academy. Reaver wanted tuition fees to be paid for access. Samuel and the people of Brightwall did not. She came instead with a middle option which seemed to appease them both somewhat. Tuition was to be paid, based on a fair few factors like class, income, and intellectual needs—less from those impoverished and more from those rolling in gold.

She also had to make a ruling concerning Bower Lake. Reaver opted to have it drained and mined. Page furiously fought against that option, though her opinion meant little. Even knowing that her kingdom's monetary toil was not yet over, she went with the selfish choice—she ordered that the lake not be drained and placed under the protection of the Crown instead. A choice she had needed to explain and make up to Reaver afterwards, but he conceded readily enough.

Staring out at the serenity of the lake, rippling ever so gently in the last rays of the sun, she knew she had made the right choice. Calm washed over her as she continued to watch the mesmerizing waters.

"M'lady, did you hear me?"

Rayla turned, abruptly shaken from her thoughts at the touch of a hand to her shoulder, gently shaking her. The maid was young, lovely, and absolutely timid.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Alina. Kindly repeat, would you?" Rayla said, a humble smile creeping onto her lips.

The maid returned the smile, still looking a little apprehensive. Alina had quickly become Rayla's chosen help for whenever she was at Reaver's mansion. The woman was delightful company, her manners were excellent, she was very kind, and always willing to go several extra miles for the queen without even needing to be asked.

She was likely also one of the only servants Reaver hadn't dragged to bed even once, which in itself was rather astonishing. Alina was one of the most beautiful of all the servants Reaver owned, with expressive green eyes, darkly tanned skin, and long dark brown hair. She was definitely some foreign beauty that Reaver had acquired from a different land, even her name sounded somewhat exotic. _Ah-ly-nah._

"I said that your bath is now ready, M'lady. If that is all, I shall go see to it that dinner be served shortly as well. Master Reaver should be returning soon," Alina said, still smiling.

Rayla nodded and walked over to the steaming bath as the maid left, closing the door quietly behind her. Slipping out of the robe and into the hot bath, she allowed a soft sigh of contentment to escape her lips. Her wounds were healed, but her muscles still felt sore and tender. She was having a hard time remembering just how many groups of balverines she had battled to get to her destination—to the place where she made the choice to sacrifice those living in Silverpines over a cruel slight from long ago.

She had previously helped the poor people of the discarded little hamlet, especially since they were surrounded by balverine infested woods to such an extent that traders rarely wanted to go there. She had felt sorry for them, until she had heard the story of a white balverine—the story of how the villagers left him to the fate that made him what he had become.

Justice had demanded a return of the favor, perhaps it was a bit too much, too drastic, but it had been served either way. The white balverine had promised her that for her help the majority of the balverines would let her pass without too much trouble, and that they would also integrate themselves into the village's new lifestyle and would welcome her whenever she visited them.

She had gotten the statue in the end as well, the one thing she had actually endeavored to do that day, the rest was just happenstance.

Rayla sunk deeper into the water when she heard the bedroom door open and close quietly, paired with the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Well, the statue seems to have a value of at least 500,000 gold. I assume you will be pouring that right into the Royal Treasury then? Shall I keep you a cut of the proceeds?"

Reaver sat down on the edge of the marble bath and looked her over, a soft tsk sound leaving his lips as he surveyed her hair.

"No, send it all to the Treasury, I'm still short by a lot," Rayla replied, continuing to wash herself with the cloth.

"Not that much really. You only need another 2,000,000 gold," he commented, rolling up his shirt's sleeves and grabbing a bottle standing on the far edge of the bath.

Rayla blinked in surprise. The amount didn't make sense, it had been much more when she had last looked. "What? How is that possible? The last time I checked the ledgers we still needed around 3,000,000 gold."

"Consider it a loan then," he replied, pouring some liquid from the bottle onto his hands and set about the task of washing her hair.

Rayla sat quietly in shock for a moment, hardly noticing the fingers that were brushing out the tangles from her hair. "_You_ donated 1,000,000 gold to the Royal Treasury?"

Reaver paused what he was doing for a moment. "Yes," he replied simply, before continuing to lather her hair in the liquid. "Perhaps that will stop you from going out and doing stupid things that make you end up like _this_. Now rinse your hair."

Rayla remained quiet and quickly rinsed her hair off before getting up and accepting the bathrobe from him as she stepped out of the bath. "Thank you," she replied quietly as she dried herself.

Reaver nodded and prepared to leave the room. "You should hurry, dinner will be served soon. I'll await you downstairs." And with that said, he promptly left the room.

Rayla remained standing in the silence a while longer, trying to push away the feelings of worry and irritation. Reaver had been acting a little odd the past month. His actions seemed more strained, he was almost completely withdrawn from most things, he appeared lost in thought through most discussions, and his temper had gotten worse. There had been at least fifteen new faces to greet her at the mansion in the past days—Reaver had retreated to his home in Millfields for the past month and a half, and merely attended court when needed before returning home in the evenings.

She had spent a few nights over at his mansion and had awoken a couple times to find the space beside her in the bed to be abandoned. She had also found him in his study with more than one empty bottle of alcohol—not entirely inebriated, but decidedly not as sober as usual—more than once.

Though he still allowed her to stay over whenever she wanted, and to share his bed, his demeanor towards her appeared colder and more reserved. The fact that he had washed her hair for her and donated a whole 1,000,000 gold to the kingdom's Treasury had surprised the hell out of her.

Having finished drying herself off, she quickly selected a pair of pants and a loose-fitting shirt to wear. There was no need to dress formal, so she didn't even bother with a pair of shoes as she softly padded down the stairs to the dining hall.

Reaver was sitting at the head of the table as usual, with a stack of letters clutched in one hand as he unenthusiastically flipped through them.

Rayla quietly took her seat on his right-hand side as the servants brought forth various dishes and placed them on the table before backing out of the room again. Their past meals had been eaten in silence, no boasting, no quips, no sarcastic remarks, no arguments—just silence. The first few times this occurred she had tried to make small talk and get conversation flowing, but quickly gave up as it became clear that she might as well have been talking to the cutlery.

"Hmm, lovely," Reaver muttered to himself as he flipped past two more letters.

"What is it?" Rayla asked mildly curious.

"There are two matters that will be coming up in court tomorrow. Two big ones apparently, ones that can take another lovely bite out of the Royal Treasury," he replied, skewering a piece of meat onto his fork. "Unless of course, you follow my reasoning."

"Yes, and that would be?" she countered, taking a delicate bite of potato with her fork.

"Dismiss the Dweller's proposition, and ignore the Desert Woman's request," he replied simply before continuing to eat some of his meal.

"You know I can hardly do that, lest I want a riot on the streets. What are their proposals?" she asked.

Reaver swirled the wine in his goblet around a bit before replying. "Well, the Dweller, I believe you are aware, would like to have the Mistpeak Mountains under their control to do whatever with and merely let all those valuable resources rot away. The Desert Woman, clearly greedy and unsatisfied by what she has already gotten, would like for you to build a fortress out in the middle of the dunes of sand."

"Pros and cons?" Rayla asked, taking a sip of her own wine.

Reaver took another bite of food, chewed and swallowed before replying, clearly having given it a thought first. "Giving in to the Dweller will lose us 50,000 of the gold we currently have. Denying the old coot, will gain us 400,000 gold from the logging camps I plan to open there. As for the desert outpost, building it will cost us 300,000 gold."

Rayla remained quiet for a moment, thinking it over. "Alright, let's say I deny the Dweller, that will net us 400,000 gold. If I concede to Kalin's wish for a Military Outpost, in the end we only gain 100,000 gold from both proposals. Though the Outpost is costly, do you not think it might be worth it? You have a bunch of new factories in Aurora, would it not be wise to keep them relatively safe?"

"I suppose, whimsical as it sounds. Though at this rate, you're going to need to make a contribution to the Royal Treasury yourself, if you wish to save all those peasants. The economy is headed for a crash as well, unless you plan to bail it out, which of course will be costing at least another 500,000 gold."

Rayla pushed her plate away from her, hardly hungry anymore. "That leaves it up to me to donate another 2,200,000 gold at least," she said with a sigh, wanting to bash her head down onto the table. The time she had was starting to run out now.

"Well, rent should be coming in tomorrow," Reaver replied with a dark grin.

The queen scoffed, crossing her arms in irritation. "And just how is a bit of rent going to make all of this better?"

He gave a slight shrug, the smile on his face never leaving. "Well, the rent for the houses here in Millfields alone should amass to around 600,000 gold."

"What!?" Rayla spat out, nearly choking on her wine. "How? How is that possible?"

"Well, you haven't personally collected the past couple of months, so I have done so instead. I also pushed the rent up as high as achievable," he drawled, lazily.

She had to try very hard to keep her eyes from bugging out. An amount that high was going to go far in securing the kingdom's finances for the army. She had enough gold in her personal treasury to fill the remaining need of the Royal Treasury, and then the goal would be met, and the biggest weight would be off of her shoulders. No more of this running around like a chicken with its head cut off between making decisions to please and displease people, no more treading the fine line between keeping people happy and keeping the people alive. There would only be the attack left, and after everything she had to do in preparation, the blasted attack couldn't come and be over with soon enough.

"I'll authorize funds to be taken from my personal treasury and placed in the Royal Treasury to make up for the outstanding amount. Bail the economy out, we cannot let it crash. You can start your preparations for the logging camps, I will authorize it after the court session tomorrow to make it final. Same goes for the desert outpost in Aurora," she replied, finishing the remainder of her wine and placing the goblet aside.

Reaver nodded in agreement, pushing his plate away and snapping his fingers to summon forth the servants to clear up the table. Grabbing his goblet, he refilled it and made for his study. "I'll join you in bed later."

Rayla watched his back retreat until he was out of view and sighed softly. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder and she turned to find Alina giving her a comforting smile.

"Don't worry so, Majesty. He seemed better today, he only shot two other servants and the one was only wounded," she replied gently.

"Yes, but something is on his mind, and I'm not quite sure he realizes it," Rayla muttered quietly.

Alina gave her shoulder a little squeeze and smiled a bit more. "Even if that is so, it does him good to just have you around. Master Reaver has been much worse before. Your influence seems rather calming on him. Just be there, M'lady, and things should turn out alright. You will see," Alina replied, letting go of the queen's shoulder. "Do you need me upstairs, Majesty?"

Rayla shook her head. "No, I think I will be alright for tonight, Alina. Thank you. Try to keep the servants out of the way so that he doesn't order too many bottles of alcohol to be brought to him."

"Of course, M'lady," Alina replied, returning to the task of clearing the table with another maid.

Rayla silently walked back up the stairs, mourning for a moment how quiet the mansion was. No servant dared make any noise, especially at night. The silence in a house so big was deafening. Other than the flamboyancy of it and the show of power and wealth, she couldn't understand why a man who lived by himself would want a house as big as the mansion was. Most of the rooms were hardly ever visited and some of the hallways only ever saw the servants who kept them clean. It was empty, lonely, and quite frankly morbid.

Closing the large bedroom door behind her, she stripped down and donned a satin nightdress kept for her in one of the armoires. Reaver had begrudgingly agreed to relent one of his many armoires for her use.

The bedroom was cold and dark, and Rayla snuggled deeply into the soft duvet and sheets, trying to block out the feelings of loneliness and fear. Almost as many nights as she had awoken to find Reaver gone, she had had nightmares about the coming Darkness. It plagued her thoughts in the day and plagued her sleep at night. Reaver never said anything about it though, so she was sure she'd never woken him with her unconscious struggles.

For once she was grateful for being so exhausted, it allowed her to fall into a deep, blank sleep, untouched by nightmarish images or worry.

* * *

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Kalin beamed. The elder, desert woman smiled joyfully at the monarch on her throne. "You are truly gracious to grant us such protection. You have kept your promise to us already, and still you protect us. We are proud to be part of Albion."

Rayla smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. The young queen sat quietly and watched as Kalin bowed once more to her and left the throne room. Sabine was walking inside to take her place, his turn finally having come.

"The last matter for the day; the Mistpeak Mountains," Reaver announced, looking terribly bored with the whole affair, even more so knowing that he was going to win. "Sabine will plead his case, then I shall state mine to refute his, Your Majesty."

Sabine walked forward, his smoking-pipe staff scraping against the carpet as he leaned against it. "I come here, seeking nothing but what was promised me and my people. You pledged to restore our home mountains and our right to dwell in them. We have paid with our lives to set you on that throne. Undo the damage your brother did to our land and give us back our mountains, then our agreement shall be satisfied."

Rayla paid attention to the haughty way in which the old little man spoke. He clearly knew what he wanted and he expected it to be done, no matter the cost. She could not keep this promise, but not keeping it could prove dangerous. She would need to keep a close eye on the Dwellers.

Reaver gave a dramatic sigh before speaking. "Your Majesty, this sounds of both an unnecessary expense and an impudent demand. What value is there in trees just languishing amongst snow and rock? This is not the time to indulge in idyllic fantasies. Those forests are a resource, and we are in dire need of resources."

The queen watched as Reaver spoke, he loved to talk with gestures as much as words and was animatedly waving his hands about while stating his point.

"I propose we expand on your brother's initiative and take what nature offers so readily. Just say the word, and I will transform the currently worthless wasteland of Mistpeak into assets we can use to defend Albion," Reaver stated, impatiently tapping his cane against the floor.

"These hands are not yet so old or weak that I can't wring that pretty, little neck of yours, Reaver," Sabine growled, turning on his opposition.

Reaver merely cocked an eyebrow, looking mildly amused at the threat and resting a hand on his hip. "Hah! The refined retort of a true mountain goat," he remarked with a grin. "Stop bleating for a moment so that Her Majesty can decide."

"The Mistpeak Mountains will remain under control of the Crown. Reaver you are hereby allowed to open your logging camps to gather the resources the kingdom needs. I am sorry Sabine, but it's for the greater good," Rayla said, her voice stern and unwavering and her eyes carefully watching the increasingly huffy Dweller.

"Tsh, greater good? What good is it you think you can do? You, who are just like your bloody brother, which you spared, mind you. Perhaps you are even worse than he was! Today, you have made an enemy for life, Queen. Beware a second revolution doesn't take this land before you can save it."

"Perhaps you best leave. It's your choice if you want to be kept in a pen or return to the top of your mountain, goat," Reaver commented idly, buffing his nails against the fur of his coat. "Court dismissed!"

The guards stood a little straighter as the Dweller and his people left the throne room, the threat not having gone unheard by any who were assembled. The threat alone was more than enough to execute anyone for treason, but doing so would incite the threatened second revolution immediately, and so Rayla stayed her hand.

"Reaver," she began once the throne room was cleared.

"I shall go get the logging camps underway immediately," Reaver replied simply, effectively cutting her off as he turned on his heel and headed out the door.

Brushing away the feeling of unease and irritation, the queen got up and made her way to the Royal Treasury. It was time for her donation, the last step in securing the safety of her kingdom, no matter who was pleased with it anymore or not.

* * *

A crow pecked indolently at a piece of its dinner, the moon glinting off its pitch-colored feathers as it ignored the arguing voices beneath the tree where it perched.

"The queen has become a tyrant in her own way. She no longer hears the cries of her people, sat up high in her lofty throne the way she is," a voice quietly said, unseen in the dark of night.

"Agreed," another replied. "Perhaps it is time to figure out how to remove her."

"No, not just yet. This upcoming threat has to be repelled first. After that... she is entirely expendable," a distinctly female voice replied from the shadows.

"We need allies. I heard she broke the promise she made to the Dwellers today. Perhaps they will stand by us," one of the voices murmured.

"Send an envoy to the mountains then. Tell them that we await their decision. For now, keep to yourselves and remain in the dark. The time to strike will come soon," the female voice replied, sounding thoughtful for a moment.

A flurry of crows scattered at the rustling of a cloak and the sudden movement as the shadows that had converged separated and went their different ways.

* * *

**Author's Note**:** Please Follow, Favorite, and Review. Some encouraging words would be really nice. I've found myself struggling with the upcoming few chapters which are necessary, but not at the part of the story where I really want to be, so I find myself in a bit of a rut writing them.**


	9. Distracted

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though._

**Author's Note****:**** Firstly, a big thank you to all the new people following this story! This chapter is entirely from Reaver's POV. I've had this one written in bits and pieces while working on the previous and next chapter. Also introducing a new character that may feature in later parts of the story, Wesley Pierce, name inspiration derived and twisted from rewatching some 'Angel' episodes again. I hope you all enjoy.**

**Warning****:** Short bit of Mild Adult Content. A touch of abuse and violence.

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE:**

_**DISTRACTED**_

* * *

Reaver stood at the helm of the _Revenge_—the _Reaver's Revenge_ to be exact—and gazed out at the sea. His war frigate was cutting through the still ocean like a hot knife through butter. Gentle waves lapped up at the sides of his ship.

It had once again become time for him to make a sacrifice to his 'friends' in Wraithmarsh. He had left the queen a note telling her that he had other business to attend to outside the borders of Albion and that he hoped they would all still be there upon his return. He did wonder how the little monarch would take such a letter, but that wasn't nearly his biggest concern at the time. Surely, she would've gotten the drift by then, he had been practically ignoring her for a whole week before the ship had set sail.

He enjoyed being back out at sea, it was the one place where he truly felt content—where he felt at home. He had spent so many years of his immortal life upon the waters and made such a name for himself. Nothing upon the sea would defy him and remain standing—or in this case, drifting... sailing—before him.

The _Revenge_ was a veritable fortress of war on the water and he doubted any ship could be more seaworthy in comparison. Sporting a total of 38 cannons, she could defend herself beyond a doubt, and with that class of firepower and her quick maneuverability, she could take down anything else on the waters with ease.

It took a large crew to man her though, but he simply refused to settle for one of the smaller 'boats' that his Industry could produce—steam-powered or not, he preferred the proper ships he had dealt with most of his immortal life over those any day.

Each of the hundred sailors aboard her had learnt to be loyal to her captain through anything and to obey his orders without question. Mutiny was no option and wasn't even used as an expletive aboard her. Acts of treachery or anything displeasing towards her captain was met with a bullet or—if he was feeling creative—many other extreme punishments, most of them fatal in nature. There had been one time the captain had had a chain shackled to a mutineer's neck on one end and on the other to a cannon ball which got fired. Another time a thief caught aboard the ship had been tied to the anchor and then dropped with it.

Through all of those heavy punishments, and through Reaver's uncanny ability to pull his ship through any situation, the crew had become truly loyal to him.

A pity that he would need to sacrifice one of those resilient sailors once they reached Bloodstone though. He had been so caught up in trying to reel in a sacrifice while still performing the duties expected of his title under the authority of the Crown, that the former had ended up a disaster.

Yet, the half attention and uninterested behavior that had been rolling off him like waves had done well to keep the queen at her distance. Perhaps with her mind clear she would have more of a chance to actually make sure that his assets survived this war with the Darkness from Aurora.

* * *

"Master Reaver, welcome back."

"Wesley. Kept the house in shape, have you?" Reaver quirked a grin at the young man who gave a quick, respectful bow.

Wesley Pierce had been the butler at his Bloodstone mansion for fifteen years already. He had dragged the boy off the streets upon a whim. And what a whim it had been! The young Wesley, only 12 years of age at the time, had been cast out of his home by his mother after he had killed his father for assaulting his sister. The boy had never seen either since, but he had had a decent education and spoke properly like only those of nobility did. Reaver had quickly taken a shine to the boy and had him further educated. Before long the boy was taking care of minor affairs for him and handling the staff in the house.

"Of course, sir," Wesley replied in his refined voice, a sinister smile lighting up on his face and his green eyes sparkling with mirth. "I believe there is only six new servants that you do not know, sir. The ones before them having, sadly, needed to _vacate_ their positions."

Reaver raised an eyebrow slightly. "You disposed of them?"

Wesley gave a idle shrug and brushed a few dark brown strands from his bangs out of his face. "They refused to listen to good reason and do their jobs properly. All things considered, sir, I had little choice in the matter."

A chuckle rippled through Reaver as he shook his head. "Good to see you haven't changed a bit in the time I have been away. Have someone prepare me a bath, perhaps someone to join? And bring me something to drink, I shall be in my study," he said, shrugging off his coat and handing it to his butler who nodded in understanding.

"At once, sir," Wesley replied, hanging the coat and leaving to hand out the duties.

Walking to his study, Reaver had to marvel for a second at the splendor of his Bloodstone manor. It had been a few years since he had personally attended a trip to Bloodstone and been inside his mansion, but the interior was spotless and everything appeared to be perfectly in order. If only Rufus could achieve the same with his Millfields mansion.

Unfortunately, Rufus was a timid, young fool with a speech impediment and almost no education at all. It was quite likely that Wesley had received more education than all of his Millfields servants combined. Where Rufus was clumsy and stupid, Wesley was graceful, discreet, confident, and cunning. Wesley had also quickly taken to Reaver's method of solving problems and inspiring morale, and it apparently worked quite well for him.

Grinning to himself, Reaver walked into his study, feeling rather cheerful at the prospect of a nice bath, a beautiful woman, and a chalice of wine.

* * *

The gunshot rang throughout the quietness of the manor, echoing loudly in the night.

Reaver was just returning his Dragonstomper to its place underneath his pillow when the doors to his room burst open. Wesley, looking mildly bewildered, as if he had been interrupted abruptly from something important stood at the doors with his brown hair skewed and his clothes practically falling off him.

"Take that away and dispose of it. You," he said, turning to look at someone over his shoulder, "clean up that mess immediately."

Two servants quickly bustled into the room, one dragging the corpse of the young woman out while the other began furiously scrubbing at the blood that had pooled on the tiles.

Wesley walked over to Reaver, who was still looking annoyed, but with a faint trace of amusement visible on his face now. "She displeased you, sir? Shall I find you another one for the night?"

"No, perhaps just a chalice of wine," Reaver replied, irritably brushing his hair from his eyes, before a smirk crawled back onto his lips. "You seem a little flustered, Wesley. Did my gunshot interrupt something?"

Wesley's replying grin nearly spread up to his ears. "A petite little blonde, actually, but I told her to just keep herself busy until I returned."

Reaver tried not to groan in exasperation. Even his butler was getting some! "Well, have someone bring me that chalice of wine, and you can go back to her."

"At once, Master Reaver," Wesley replied, giving a curt bow and turning on his heel for the door, only stopping to shout at the servant who had finished cleaning the floor to go away.

Mere moments later, a maid entered with a tray, a chalice and a bottle of dark red wine atop it, which she quietly placed on the bedside table before scurrying out and closing the door behind her.

Reaver sat up in bed, lounging against the pillows and sipped his wine thoughtfully. Truth be told, the young woman, other than being too chatty, hadn't really done anything displeasing—she just wasn't the right woman. She wasn't _Rayla_. Goddamn Sparrow for having brought the girl into the world and even more for the words that she had spoken with it. Blasted promises... If Sparrow was still alive he'd tell her just what he thought of her bloody promises.

Eventually, between the bottle of wine, the warmth of the fireplace, and cursing the deceased Sparrow so badly that even the ocean wouldn't ever be able to wash away all the profanities, he drifted into a hazy sleep.

* * *

Reaver's hands drifted up along her legs. _Wrong._ They weren't the right shape and length. His lips curled slightly in distaste as his eyes ran over the naked form between his legs. Her hips weren't the right curve, her breasts weren't right either, her hair wasn't as silky and lustrous, her eyes weren't the right shape and color, her nose too sharp, and her lips too plump.

He tried to push these thoughts out of his mind and focus on the feeling of her lips encircling him. The poor thing was set on trying to pleasure him, falsely encouraged by the way his cock had hardened even more only moments before. His mind had been entertaining fleeting thoughts of the queen, and his body had reacted to that, completely unbeknownst to the young woman in his bed.

Her mouth was warm and wet and sent a shiver down his spine, but set as she was on pleasuring him, she was too timid. Already irritated, he tangled his fingers in her hair and impatiently pushed her head down on him. A soft groan escaped his lips as he forced her to take more of him into her mouth.

Images of Rayla drifted through his mind again. The coy smile on her face when caught doing something she generally wouldn't, the sparkle of merriment or defiance in her bright blue eyes, her soft hands and long fingers, her attractive slender legs as she slid out of her stockings or boots, and those shapely hips of hers when she took stance and rested a hand on one to glare imperiously at him.

A guttural growl left his throat as irritation and anger boiled his blood. With a snarl of annoyance he thrust the woman away from him, who tumbled off the bed, landing with an undignified squeak on the tiled floor and began cursing at him.

"Hey! Why the h-"

The gunshot thundered through the mansion and mere seconds after, the smoke still trailing from the barrel of his Dragonstomper, the doors to his bedroom opened.

Wesley strode in with two servants, one immediately gathering up the girl's corpse and the other quickly scrubbing away all memory of her.

Wesley gave a sigh and walked over to his master who looked fit to kill more than just one woman. "Master Reaver," he began quietly, his eyes trailing over Reaver who was still naked and half sprawled in bed, clutching his pistol until his knuckles turned white, "I... if I may be so bold, sir, it doesn't seem like any of the women are interesting you right now. This was the fifth one in two days, sir, if you continue there may well be none left for anyone else."

Reaver gave an indifferent grunt as reply.

Wesley shifted a little uncomfortably for a moment. "Sir, perhaps a dashing, young man? Maybe a change of pace is all that's needed for a night..."

Reaver pursed his lips, thoughtful. It couldn't hurt to try, he surmised after remaining silent for a long time and nodded glumly at his butler.

"I'll have someone brought at once, sir," Wesley replied, giving a curt bow and ushering the servant who had cleaned the floor out with him. Little did he know that within two hours' time he would once again be dragging servants upstairs to clean the mess.

* * *

It was many hours later, with the moon lodged high in the sky, when Reaver marched into the Leper's Arms. The place hadn't changed in years, still looking rather decrepit.

He immediately walked over to a secluded table and sat down, without too much grace. He was irritated to no end and for the sake of keeping the better staff alive, Wesley had shooed him out of the mansion and told him to go enjoy a few drinks at the tavern.

No matter what he did, who he dragged to bed, or who got sent to his bed, he could not wipe the queen from his mind. Wesley had completely stopped sending him company to his room or bath now, arguing that with the way he was accelerating things there would only be fat, old, wart-covered women and men left in Bloodstone.

A maid quickly brought him a drink, one that was soon to be followed by many others.

Mulling over his drink and trapped in his darkened thoughts, Reaver nearly started upon hearing a quiet sniffle a little distance from him. His eyes turned to find the source of despair.

A young woman with pretty hazel hair sat in the other corner, a glass at her shaking fingertips. She was clearly inebriated judging by the pooled liquid on the table. Pretty, though.

Opportunity chewed at his mind and he immediately gave way to its advice, getting up from his chair and walking over to the young woman's table where he promptly took a seat and pulled out a handkerchief to offer her.

She stared at him with something caught between irritation and appreciated before accepting the handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes.

"Now what has something as lovely as yourself so despairing?" he asked softly, taking another sip from his drink.

"I'm not despairing, sir," the young woman scoffed, her mouth turning downwards. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. I'm not good company right now, and I'm much too angry to even try to be."

Reaver raised an eyebrow questioningly at her. "Oh, and what has a pretty lass, such as yourself so angry?"

She stared at him for a long moment before sighing as she drew the conclusion that he wasn't planning on leaving her alone. "My fiancé," she replied with disdain, "I found him cheating on me."

Reaver could almost feel the gears click into place inside his head as a plan quickly formulated itself and a broad grin spread across his face. "I'm so sorry to hear that," he replied, forcing his voice to sound subdued as he rested his chin on his knuckles, "Perhaps you should give the poor fool a taste of his own medicine..."

He watched her process his words, a deep blush creeping onto her cheeks as his smile turned sultry and he lowered his eyelids slightly while giving her a smoldering look.

"I... I don't... know," she replied, trying to look everywhere but at him. "Alright... Alright!" she conceded after a while, waiving her hands at him as he leant closer to her.

"Lovely," he replied, backing off immediately. "I daresay that it is a little late right now and a beauty such as yourself could use a nice rest. Tomorrow I'll show you everything you have been missing with that regrettable sod." A charming smirk graced his lips again. "I'll meet you on the docks tomorrow morning," he finished, taking her hand and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles while resisting the urge to spit.

The young woman gave a small squeak, the blush furiously returning to her cheeks again. "Y-yes, I... I'll be there."

Reaver gave her a curt bow, tossed a few gold coins at the maid who had served him, and left the tavern. As he walked back up to his mansion, he pulled out a cigarette from the case in his coat and lit it, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk around it. The night had not been a total loss after all, at least he would no longer need to worry about his crew.

* * *

His boots were stained with mud and marsh muck, their polished shine long gone from them. He hated trudging through the Wraithmarsh. It was a cold, dank, disgusting place, and it held too many memories that he wished to keep buried.

Reaver tugged the woman along with him, the stone doors grinding against the floor as they opened slowly to reveal the dark interior. He promptly shoved the seal back into the woman's hands. She seemed hesitant to enter with him and he tugged harder on her arm, practically dragging her inside. Ignoring her pitiful whimpering, he pressed on, torches and braziers lighting up as they continued down the hallways.

The catacomb-like place looked as decrepit as ever, marred by fallen columns, debris, dust, and cobwebs. A nagging feeling of being watched crawled up the back of his neck and he had to yank roughly once more when the woman gave a squeak of fright and dug her heels into the broken floor.

"Come now, dear, you said you would go anywhere with me," Reaver derided, a nasty sneer on his face. He had quickly tired of the woman's whimpers and whines and she had been grating on his nerves ever since they had reached the first broken and dilapidated house's remains.

"You... You s-said... you would keep me s-safe," she whined pathetically.

"And, didn't I? I don't recall us being attacked even once, now shut up and come along," he snarled, picking up the pace as he hauled the woman after him.

He quickly made their way down to the depths of the tomb-like structure, ignoring the soft crying that had finally broken out behind him. The young woman was rather beautiful, even if she didn't seem to have much going on upstairs or a stout heart. Thankfully, the Shadow Judges didn't seem to care much for any of that in any of the sacrifices he sent over the years.

Here and there a bone crunched to bits beneath his boots as he trod over some of the skeletal remains that littered parts of the hallways, barely visible in the dust and dim light from the torches on the walls.

He couldn't help but wonder if the queen would have been squeamish like the woman he was dragging along with him, if she had been in her place. Would she have sniveled in fear or would she have scoffed in distaste? The latter seemed more appropriate to him.

It wasn't long before they reached their final destination. The room looked like a gigantic tomb, or more appropriately, like it had been made up of tombs upon tombs.

Reaver flung the woman down onto the broken tiled floor, his eyes trained on the three grotesque thrones on a platform some distance from them. Three dark shapes were rapidly taking on form and a sharp, frightened cry pierced his senses. A churning black and red mist was quickly engulfing the woman at his feet, her cry quickly becoming a horrified scream that could make a person's blood run cold.

The swirling mist dispersed, sinking back into nothingness and leaving an old, shivering woman behind. The gunshot roared throughout the cold stone room, echoing loudly against the forlorn walls.

Reaver watched as three pairs of glittering crimson eyes turned to him as he holstered his Dragonstomper. He idly sidestepped to avoid the spreading pool of blood.

"_Thief_, how consssiderate of you to visssit us persssonally," the Shadow Judge to the right rasped.

"It has been long since we saw you last, Reaver," the leftmost Judge murmured. "Not that that is anything new, but... something is different about you this time though."

"Yesss, your mind isss dissstracted..."

"What could it be that has a man such as yourself so unfocused?" the central Judge added, sounding almost thoughtful—a dangerous occurrence. "Could it be the new ruler of Albion?"

"That one woman could have a man sssuch as yourssself so off guard, it isss quite interesssting," the Judge on the right commented again.

"That's absurd. The woman has no hold over me," Reaver replied haughtily, scoffing and crossing his arms in a displeased manner.

"Do not pretend like _we_ cannot see it, Thief," the middle Judge cautioned. "Nobody seems to garner even a grain of interest from you now and nothing you do can wipe _her_ from your mind. You are anxious to return to Albion and find her—to see what has happened in the time you have been gone. Though you may not like what you will find there..."

"What do you know!?" Reaver snarled back at the Judge who merely started to laugh. It was a horrible, bone-chilling laugh.

"That is for us to know, and for you to discover, as usual, Thief," the central Judge added, its eyes glittering malevolently. "Do not forget your place."

"Do you think ssshe would accept... that ssshe could _love_ sssomething like yourssself?" the Shadow Judge on the right asked, a cruel edge to its slithering voice and followed by a mocking laugh.

Reaver glared at it, refusing to grace the thing with an answer, knowing that it was only trying to get under his skin.

"Go... We have nothing more to discuss with you," the Shadow on the left murmured.

Reaver watched as the three Shadows began to lose shape and dissipate. Their words echoed in his head and he promptly turned on his heel, grabbing the Dark Seal from the corpse. He was more than ready to leave that godforsaken place behind him and return to Albion.

* * *

Reaver leaned over the guardrail on the quarterdeck and looked down into the dark waters that passed by as the _Revenge_ cut through them. It would be almost a week at sea before they reached Bowerstone.

The words of the Shadow Judges kept swirling around in his mind, taunting him and driving him to distraction—hence he had relinquished the wheel to his first mate.

He had previously planned on staying longer in Bloodstone, possibly make some new renovations to his mansion there, possibly settle some disputes in the town, but the mocking words of the Shadow Judges had made him order his crew to prepare the ship to set sail at once. He would not arrive in time for the battle, but he would be there just days after at the most. Perhaps the Judges were just playing with him and Albion would still be fine when he returned. Perhaps... but he couldn't count on a mere perhaps.

"Full canvas! Ply to windward!" he shouted, turning to face the deck where the crew immediately sprang to action at his words. A chorus of 'Aye, aye Cap'n' rang out and within moments all the sails of the ship had been unfurled and her pace decidedly picked up.

* * *

**Author's Note: Please Follow, Favorite, and Review. Whether you loved it or hated it, let me know. We are progressing to the Battle for Albion, the next chapter will prominently feature on the fight with the Crawler, its before and aftermath.**

**To make it clear to those who had been wondering, Wesley doesn't count as any mere servant, so he will get away with more stuff than expected. This chapter lays down some ground rules for the following ones, like the hint at a promise from Sparrow, which will only be revealed much later. I've taken artistic liberty with the court, as is my right as a writer, to differentiate between the three of them, since they will be making appearances much more than just once. The central Judge speaks more refined and proud, the one on the left speaks normally and the one on the right hisses a bit. This is a FAN FICTION not a GAME CANON, to the person who flipped their lid at one of the Judges hissing. If you do not like it, then don't read it and go do something else, I'm sorry but I won't change the storyline for one person who is unhappy with something minor. Everything done in this chapter was deliberate and will play out further in the upcoming chapters to make sense to them. End of rant/explanation.**


	10. War's Loss

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though._

**Author's Note:**** This chapter is mostly centered around Rayla, we having last left Reaver off still somewhere at sea. This chapter really is the emotional make or break chapter. I've gone through similar personally, so this chapter meant a lot to me to write.**

**Inspirational Songs: **Within Temptation - _Iron_ & Within Temptation -_ Lost_

Give the songs a listen while reading this, they're quite bound with the emotional parts of this chapter.

**Warning: **Violence, Language, and Character Death.

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN:**

_**WAR'S LOSS**_

* * *

Rayla glared out at the city through her bedroom windows. Everything had come down to this. Tomorrow the Crawler would try and invade her kingdom.

Her people would be as safe as she could hope to provide them. Through her actions and Reaver's advice she had raised enough money to ensure their protection to the best of her kingdom's abilities.

'_Reaver...,_' she wondered, '_Where are you? What are you doing?_'

She had found a letter addressed to her and once she had begun to read it, she could only stare in frustration and a sense of betrayal at the elegant, swooping black letters, perfectly penned in his handwriting.

He had left her. That had been nearly two weeks ago. Yet, she could not dwell on it now.

Her nightmares had abruptly stopped some nights ago when she had finally decided that nothing was going to stop her from sending that thing right back into the very bowels of the Void.

The war was coming and she _wanted_ it, she wanted tomorrow to just commence already. Left alone in the darkness, she couldn't deny it any longer. She couldn't live without the fire of battle, it was the heat of it that made her strong. She was born to live and fight, she was a Hero inside and it was all that she ever really knew. Her mother had been a Hero and Walter had taught her to be one too. It was in her blood and it was time to _embrace_ it. She had to be strong. She had to be battle-ready.

She was on her own though, Reaver was _gone_... but that was all she needed to fire away. It made her fearless—she had nothing to lose anymore after all. Perhaps their affair had only been a dream that would have gotten in the way. Perhaps his abandonment of her was all she needed to drive her to fight.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow the war would begin and she would see it through to the very end. There was no way that she would just walk away from it anymore.

* * *

Screams and war cries penetrated their ears. Hisses and the clash of metal against metal permeated the air around them. Everywhere soldiers were fighting dark shadows, and here and there a peasant fled from the battle.

Bowerstone Market had become a battlefield of sand and blood and shadow.

The creatures borne from the shadows were grotesque and misshapen things—limbs like those of skeletons were dripping with a tar-like substance and darkness was swirling tangibly around them as they hissed and their eyes like red coals gleamed at the humans.

"For Albion! Kill them all!" Rayla shouted, her sword raised above her head before lashing towards the shadows as she and her entourage of guards fell upon the minions of Darkness.

Around her men were running around, clutching wounds, attacking the shadows, or fleeing from the battle, screaming.

"Do not listen to their lies! Fight them! Destroy them!" Rayla barked, ripping her sword free from the mechanical corpse of a minion with a grunt.

"You've done such cruel, terrible things... They will rejoice when you are finally dead!" a voice taunted.

The Crawler had arrived, yet she couldn't see it, but she knew that it could see her.

"Oh go fuck yourself," Rayla mumbled, her sword slicing through four of the shadows with a perfectly spun arc of her blade.

Walter and Ben were keeping their pace behind her, slashing through the amassing hordes of shadows that tried to pick them apart.

Every now and then, when she drew enough of her Willpower into her attacks, a pair of ethereal black wings would shimmer at her back, crisscrossed with crimson Will lines. At first, Walter and Ben had almost dropped their guard to appraise them in their astonishment, but they were quick to remedy that mistake as the hordes descended upon them.

"We will cover this kingdom in Darkness! Where once this was the Kingdom of Light, it shall now be the Kingdom of Unlight!" the voice roared at them.

"Again, go _fuck_ yourself!" Rayla shouted, her sword slicing cleanly through one of the dark minions—gears and bolts clanging loudly onto the cobblestones—and using her other hand to flip off the disembodied voice.

More and more of the dark minions were swarming towards them now, her guards were falling under their attacks.

"I will send you back into the Void, _screaming_!" Rayla roared as she ducked the whirring blades of a minion, spinning dangerously above her head, before her sword cut upwards, ripping it in two.

"The Dark Guardian, he comes... The Guardian will protect the children, he will tear you asunder!" the screeching voiced roared back at her.

"And fuck your Guardian too!" Rayla shouted, running at the wall by the bridge and vaulting into a jump right onto the metal colossus. Her sword clashed loudly against the metal of its head as she tried to hack it off. "Watch out!" she screamed at Ben as the metal behemoth launched an attack.

Ben and Walter ducked out of the way of the broiling pool of blackness and the crows that spawned from it. Around them the other soldiers were not so lucky—fighting and dying as pools of blood drowned the streets crimson in color. Her soldiers were losing limb and life before her very eyes.

"I will kill you, I will fucking kill you all!" the queen snarled, her sword cutting through the metal colossus' neck, bits of iron and gears crashing down onto the cobblestones.

Her boots hit the ground with a sharp clip as the monstrosity crumbled beneath her, but as soon as her feet hit the ground she was off again in a blaze of crimson will, gunshots and flashing steel. Shadows separated before her furious form like water parting fire.

They were nearing the gate to Industrial now and it was becoming eerily quiet, the shadows dissipated and no dark minions were in sight—even the blasted voice had finally shut up.

"I don't like this..."

Next to her, Walter was thoughtfully scratching at his beard, his sword still in his hand and ready for battle. Rayla gave a light shrug and pressed onward with him at her side.

"Watch out!"

A barrier locked in place behind them, effectively trapping them on all sides.

"I can't get through!" Ben shouted, but Rayla paid it little mind as her eyes widened with horror at the scene before her. The Crawler immersed itself inside Walter before she could stop it.

"Walter!"

Walter turned to face her, his eyes and mouth blackened as if he had been drinking tar. His veins blackening underneath his skin as if poison was running through them. He looked wild and delirious, infected by the Darkness trapped inside him.

"Argh, the children, I can't see the children!" he roared ferociously as he cut a swing at her.

Rayla ducked out of the way of the blade, rolling to the side and jumping back onto her feet. "Walter, stop it!"

"Walter isn't here anymore, little girl," he growled at her, his eyes dangerously sweeping over her form, trying to find a fault in her defense.

Shadows were swimming in the air and taking shape, their red eyes menacing and their claws sharp.

"Then I have nothing to lose," she snarled angrily, gripping her pistol in her free hand and firing off shots at the shadows, her sword blocking those closest to her before slicing them apart. She hacked at Walter, but his sword blocked her blows and forced her into a retreat more than once. Her cheek stung from a cut he had dealt her and blood was running freely down her arm were it was marred by a deep gash.

"No, let me go! Let me go!" Walter shouted suddenly, hands clawing at his head for a second, before those darkened eyes narrowed on her form once more and a malevolent smile spread across his face.

Rayla watched in shock for a moment longer, barely ducking out of the way of the shadows that fell upon her. Sharp claws dug into the flesh of her leg, ripping open the muscles beneath and tearing a scream and the breath from her lungs. Blood was readily seeping down her leg and she had all of a moment to gulp a health potion and dodge the next attack.

Her sword clanged loudly as it crashed against Walter's broadsword—an eerie song filling the air as the blades scraped against one another—vying for dominance.

"Kill it!" Walter screamed, dropping his guard.

"Die and go back to the Void from whence you came, you fucking piece of filth!" Rayla roared, her sword breaking loose and striking through Walter's chest with a sickening crunch of metal and bone, followed by a gush of red blood and a furious, gurgled scream.

The remaining shadows dissipated immediately, the darkened sky above their heads coming apart and inklings of sunlight filtering through.

Walter's form crumbled to the ground and Rayla rushed over to him. "I'm sorry," she whined quietly, her voice breaking as she curled her arms around Walter, resting him against her body.

"You took away the Darkness, it's been inside me all this time, but it's light now. I can see the sky and its light," Walter ground out. "I don't think I can fight anymore..."

Rayla shook her head sadly. "It's all over, Walter. We won. We beat it and we did it together."

Walter gave a weak smile. "Do you remember the stories I told you as a child? There was a great queen once, the mightiest Hero of them all. Do you remember what you always said then?"

Rayla smiled lightly, a sniffle escaping her. "Teach me to fight and be a Hero like Mother..."

"You done me proud, child, you've always done me proud," Walter rasped, a wracking cough coursing through his body. "Your mother and father would've been so proud to see you too, especially that fierce mother of yours. You had always been everything she had wanted you to be, and even more now. I think she had always known what you would become." His eyes were beginning to flutter closed.

"Walter... Walter... WALTER! No, don't... don't leave me... please, I can't lose another person," Rayla pleaded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"You mean that egotistical fop?" Walter asked, coughing up a bit of blood and looking up at her from underneath heavy eyelids. "Ah, balls..."

"How...?" Rayla trailed off, her eyes widening.

Walter coughed louder, more blood pooling at the corners of his mouth. "Balls to you too then. Did you think I wouldn't notice? I'm not brainless, child. Do whatever it is that makes you happy, but be cautious around that man...," a frown crossed his face momentarily, "Hah, what am I saying? You just saved the bloody kingdom, you can handle anything."

Tears were flowing freely down Rayla's face now. "But I couldn't save _you_, Walter..."

"I don't need saving, child. It was enough to watch you grow up as a Hero and fight by your side. I'll say hello to that mother of yours for you," he gurgled in reply, a weak smile curling at his bloodstained mouth as his breathing started to slow.

"Oh, Walter," Rayla gasped, her fingers gently stroking the side of his face. "...Thank you..."

"It was... my... hono...," the words trailed off quietly, the light going dim in his eyes and his breathing slowing to a stop.

Rayla stared down at the unmoving man held in her arms. Walter didn't move, didn't speak, not even a muscle twitched anymore. "...Walter...?"

Her vision was blurring, her eyes stung while more tears poured out and her heart felt like it was trying to claw itself out as the searing pain of loss permeated her very core.

Ben and Logan watched quietly, trying not to quiver with shock as the queen's scream of agony rent the air.

* * *

Rayla stood quietly. A silent vigil, alone in the room, her hands lain upon the hilt of her sword as its tip rested on the polished marble floor. She had wondered a few times if that was the only thing still keeping her body upright.

Both Logan and Ben had tried to persuade her from it, but she had insisted on standing at vigil for Walter. Tomorrow he would be buried, but until then she would remain beside him.

The coffin was lavish, he would have berated her over it, yet she had to show some last amount of appreciation for all the things her old mentor had ever meant to her. She had had the most skilled carpenters she could find carve it for her from rich ebony wood, inlay its decorations with golden filigree, and line the interior in silver velvet.

Beside her, Walter's body was still and sickeningly pale. His body had been cleansed and he had been dressed in fine red and gold clothing with a pair of polished black boots. His hands folded about the hilt of the sword that lay upon his chest in black leather gloves cuffed by dark leather bracers inlaid with gold. Walter may not have been a noble, but he had been the most noble soul she had ever known and he deserved every honor that could be given him.

She had ordered a stone mason to carve a statue of him as well. It was to stand an eternal vigil somewhere in the castle gardens, overlooking Bowerstone.

'_He would have liked that,_' she thought idly, her heart giving a sharp lurch, but she could no longer cry. Her eyes were dry. Every drop of fluid that could come from behind them had already been shed hours before as she stood the start of her vigil, staring at that pale, unmoving face—hoping, praying, begging that he would merely open his eyes and tell her 'balls' to whatever she thought could get rid of him. As the hours moved along, her flow of tears had ebbed, her throat turned hoarse, and her screams ran silent.

She remained standing, quietly adjusting her stance a little. It had been hours upon hours, but even the dull ache in her legs from standing so long had begun to fade. Everything was starting to fade away, even the glimmering light of the multitudes of candles looked as if they were to fade at any moment.

A door opened softly, but she didn't turn away from her charge. She would not leave his side, not until they took him from her.

"Sister...," a voice murmured softly.

Logan gently touched his sister's shoulder. She didn't even turn to look at him. She looked pale in contrast to the pitch-black pants and shirt she wore. She had gone against his wishes and had stood a vigil by Walter's body for the entire duration of a night, a day, and night again—denying both food and sleep. He hated to see what it was doing to her, but he couldn't refuse her. She had already shown her anger when she had shot one of the carpenters who hadn't done what she had wanted for the coffin.

She was going to ruin, slowly, but he could do nothing about it. Each time he tried to pull her away or approach a different subject, she had cut him off, distancing herself from him completely.

"Sister, you have to stop this. You've been there too long. You need to eat and rest," he said, trying to pull her into his embrace. It wasn't unlike hugging a statue carved from stone and he sighed dramatically. "You haven't yet recovered from the battle, surely my suggestions aren't irrational."

She said nothing as he pulled her against his body.

"I... I have something I need to speak to you about, little sister," Logan said, idly brushing a strand of her hair from her face.

Still she gave no answer in reply, merely looking up at him as he held her.

"You've done what I had thought impossible, little sister. You are the ruler that I could never be. You don't need me anymore and Albion will heal easier without me... I... I was thinking of travelling away from here," he whispered.

Apparently that got through to her. The look his sister gave him in reply was so forlorn, so broken and despaired that his heart lurched painfully against his ribs. "Oh, sister," he murmured, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

Her walls came crashing down then and brought with it a flood of tears she had previously thought her body had already been relieved of.

Logan held his sister close as she shook with sorrow against his chest, he could already feel the damp of her tears soaking through his shirt as he had relinquished his breastplate earlier the evening on behalf of something more comfortable.

"You're all I have left, brother... I have no one else anymore. Father has gone, Mother has gone, and now... now even Walter has left us. We are alone now, brother. I cannot bear to have you leave me too," Rayla sobbed against his chest, her hands clutching at the back of his shirt hard enough that she feared it would rip.

Logan's fingers gently brushed at her hair as he tried to comfort her. "But we have each other, sister. You will have me as long as you want me," he hummed softly, placing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Please do not leave me, Logan," she whined barely audible against the material of his shirt.

"Hush, dearest sister. I will not leave your side if that is your wish," he whispered soothingly to her. "Now, how about getting some rest?"

"I can't leave him, brother. I have to stand at vigil... please let me go," she whimpered quietly, struggling weakly against his chest.

"No. Come, little sister," he said, lifting her up into his arms. "Let's get you to a bed. No, do not argue with me. I will stand vigil until the morrow, in your stead."

Hero or not, his sister was still as light as a feather, her limbs long and slender. Looking at her now, it was hard to believe she had been the one to pull through and save the whole of Albion. "Ben!" he called loudly.

The doors pushed open and Ben walked in, still looking rather worse for wear himself. "You called?"

"Stand vigil until I return. I'm taking my sister to her chambers," Logan replied.

Ben nodded and took over the post his sister had occupied, looking a little off as he held the greatsword in front of him. He plainly refused to look at the occupant inside the coffin, instead training his gaze on the opposite wall.

Logan left the room, carrying his sister in his arms as she laid her head against his shoulder. She was docile now, her energy depleted. He wound their way through the hallways and past corridors until he reached her royal chambers—his own were much deeper into the castle, but his sister had preferred a view of the gardens. Even her chambers as a princess had had a view of some of the gardens. She loved the gardens. She had loved them ever since she had been a little girl. How many times had he watched her in the gardens as she listened to the stories being told to her? Even their mother had loved being out in the gardens. It was only he who preferred to skulk about indoors, though that had only happened once he had started to grow up.

The guards on duty at their post outside the queen's chambers quickly opened the doors for him and allowed him to enter unhindered. He may not be a king anymore, but the guards still feared him and remained loyal to both his sister and himself.

He walked over to the bed and gently laid her down on it. She was already deeply asleep—truly and utterly spent. Brushing a few of her disarrayed auburn locks from her face, he leant down and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "Rest easy, little sister."

Pulling up a blanket over her still form, he turned on his heel to leave the room. He had quite a few things he would like to tell his old advisor as he stood vigil in his sister's stead.

* * *

Rayla stood in silence, the wind was whipping gently at her cloak and dress. The pelt of white wolf's fur around her shoulders gave her no manner of warmth, her very core felt frozen. She was clad in black from neck to toes—a sign of her mourning. Her dress was of the blackest velvet, her boots were black leather inlaid with gold, her arms and fingers were covered in long black gloves hidden beneath the swooping sleeves that brushed the grass at her feet. The wind was biting, and winter was coming.

The priest of Avo was speaking some manner of funeral ritual, but she paid the words no mind. Everything was just breezing past her. Her emotions were in turmoil. Her kingdom was safe, with minimal casualties, but the casualties that had been suffered, were terrible.

The people were praising her name in the streets and sending her gifts daily, but no gift would fill the void that had been left inside her.

High above her towered the statue that she had commissioned. The likeness was ideal, she had promised death to the stone carvers if the statue turned out imperfect and her threat had seemed to work marvelously. The stone Walter stood with one foot on a cask of ale, one hand resting on that leg and the other resting his broadsword over his shoulder as he looked towards the sky—the sky and its light. At the statue's base a bronze plaque read: "Father-figure, Warrior, Mentor, and Friend."

It had been a long time since she had last attended a funeral. The last ones had been for her parents—her mother when she was still a little girl and her father some years later.

A strong, but gentle arm wrapped around her shoulders and she turned to see her brother. Logan, bedecked in black and gold, looked more solemn than ever, but gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the priest murmured. "May Avo judge you justly and accept you with open arms..."

As the ceremony came to an end, Rayla quietly dropped the white rose that she had held onto the flag bearing the sigil of Albion that was covering the coffin. The coffin would be moved and the body interred into the crypt below the castle and she did not wish to stay and witness it.

She turned on her heel, her cloak flying with the motion and stormed up the steps. The echoes of her footfalls rang through the quiet of the castle, but she ignored them as she ran. Behind her a second set of footfalls could be heard, clattering loudly against the floor in contrast to the fading gunshots from outside.

"Sister," Logan made to grab her arm, but she nimbly ducked out of his way.

"Let me be," were the last words before she vanished into her chambers, the door banging shut.

* * *

Rayla sat quietly in the darkness of her room. The curtains were drawn and nobody was permitted to disturb her—not for lack of trying though. The last time Logan had tried, she had _persuaded_ him to leave and let her be—at gunpoint.

It had been three days already. Three days after Walter's funeral.

She had no idea how she looked, at least one of the three mirrors in her room was still in one piece—the other two had each had an encounter with some object or another—but she couldn't be bothered to get up off from the floor.

Her hopes were set on fire and her dreams had crumbled. She felt like she was dancing on a wire, ready to tip over the edge at the slightest miscalculation.

She was lost in the darkness now, fading away. Some part inside her was still screaming her name, haunting her in a desperation to survive, but her heart was frozen and it felt like she was losing her mind. It was suffocating, being trapped with all the emotions and sorrow—it was burying her alive. There was no point of return anymore, nothing could reach her, but she yearned... she yearned anyway.

'_Where was Reaver?_'

Everyone thought she was a fool, and maybe she was. After all, she would try to revive what was already lost, almost as if she just couldn't bring herself to realize that hope was only playing a wicked game with her mind. She _wanted_ him, she _needed_ him. She had hoped that something would be able to bind them, but clearly nothing of the sort had happened.

She no longer had Reaver... or her mentor. The people that cared about her—if she could place Reaver into that category—were leaving her slowly, but surely. _And she couldn't stop them._ At least her brother had remained, but even he had wanted to leave her.

A soft sob escaped her lips and wracked her frame. She was losing everything now, everything she had fought for—everything she thought she had already lost before the battle had even begun.

Shards scattered across the wall and skittered over the floor as she flung a plate at it, an anguished and angered cry leaving her.

In her distraught state, she hadn't noticed her bedroom's doors opening nor the person who entered.

"I thought we had talked about not throwing things around," a voice said, the door shutting with a bang.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** And cue cliffhanger, I'm so sorry, but it's honestly not beyond me either. Kudos to anyone who can correctly guess who the intruder is or what might happen next, I'm curious to see everyone's thoughts. Please Follow, Favorite, and Review, as always. :3**


	11. Return

**Disclaimer:**  
_I do not own Fable or any of the characters that are depicted in the game series, copyright goes to Lionhead Studios. Copyright of the story goes to me though._

**Author's Note****: Okay, firstly, I'm so sorry for taking so long with this chapter. Everything's just been hectic lately and I've been really blocked. Thanks to everyone who has been patiently waiting for this, as well as thanks to all the new Followers and people who Faved the story. I've also added a link to my Profile where you can view fanarts and artworks done for this story.**

**Warning****: **Some Violence, Language, Adult Content. Right after the bath scene, if you feel uncomfortable reading it, please skip on down to the divider.

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN:**

_**RETURN**_

* * *

Rayla spun on her heel towards the voice. That flamboyant, arrogant, sultry voice. She knew it all too well, and she hadn't heard it in so long—how long had she wished for its return? It permeated the air around her, like a gentle caress breezing across her skin.

It enraged her even more.

Reaver walked over to her slowly, the tip of his walking stick making a small clinking sound against the tiles that echoed like thunder through the silence in the room.

Rayla reached a hand out to where her pistol was laying on the desk, but stopped at the small click-sound of a hammer being pulled back. Nothing caught a person's undivided attention and caused a freeze in motion quite so well as the trigger of a pistol being cocked.

"Touch that, and I'll shoot," Reaver cautioned, his voice perfectly calm. "Yes, I've heard about just how _unpleasant_ you have been lately." The young queen appeared volatile enough already, there was no need for taking any unnecessary chances.

Rayla's eyes narrowed dangerously, sweeping between her gun and the barrel of his Dragonstomper before going back to her own as she calculated her chances.

Who was he to barge into her chambers and then tell her about _her_ unpleasantness? The sheer nerve the man possessed made her long for the comforting grip of her own pistol even more. She was not going to let a mere bluff stop her.

"Go ahead, shoot," she said, once more reaching out for her gun.

A shot rang through the air and she fell to her knees. Pain blossomed and flared—like fire licking at dry wood—through her thigh. Blood was flowing freely down her leg, pooling about her knees on the tile floor. Rayla bit back the cry of agony that wanted to erupt from her lips, her eyes stung with tears from the burning sensation coursing through her leg. She could only stare at the crimson puddle that seeped out from around her.

Looking at the pool of blood struck something deep within her, but she wasn't quite sure what. She drew her gaze away from it and looked up at the man standing only a few feet from her.

Reaver had holstered his pistol now and was casually leaning on his walking stick as he surveyed her.

"You shot me! You actually shot me, you fucking son of a diseased, plague-ridden whore!" Rayla growled, a hand resting on her wounded leg to staunch the blood.

"I warned you and you dared me anyway," he replied, closing the distance between them and placing his cane on the desk. "I have to say, your language has gotten rather colorful in my absence."

Rayla glared at the man who was now bending down over her, picking her up in his strong, lean arms. She winced at the pain that the movement sent spreading through her whole leg while turning her regard on Reaver once more.

He wasn't wearing his top hat, and his dark chocolate hair seemed slightly more disheveled than normal, slight caramel-colored streaks tinted it. He wasn't wearing anything close to his usual attire other than the black boots—but even those were different—while dressed in dark blue pants, a black shirt with puffed sleeves, and a blue sash tied around his hips. He was gorgeous and handsome as ever though. His blue eyes sparkled and swirled, the slightest touch of ocean green in them.

'_Blue?_' she pondered. '_His eyes had never been blue..._'

"Fuck you," she huffed angrily as he placed her onto the desk.

His eyebrows rose slightly and a grin spread across his lips. "Well, we can surely do that too. I'm certainly more than willing, _ma chère_."

Her hand lashed out to slap him, but he deftly caught it and applied pressure until she whimpered and tried to pull away from him.

'_Volatile, indeed_,' he thought, the corners of his mouth turning down with contempt.

"Stop this miserable behavior of yours this instance. You've holed yourself up in this utterly dark room, which is starting to smell musty, so I assume you haven't opened the windows or seen sunlight in days," he said brusquely, letting go of her hand as he walked over to a curtain and pulled it open with such force that it nearly tore.

After thrusting open a window, he turned back to assess the room. A broken mirror stared haphazardly back at him, the shards of glasses and plates intermingled with torn pieces of paper and dried stains on the floor. The glint of something metal also caught his eye and he stared in mild amusement at a sword sticking out of a mauled pile of pillows, feathers strewn about them. A few pieces of clothing lay scattered about—bloodstained clothes.

"Yes... clearly, you have been acting somewhat _dismal_ of late," Reaver concluded, walking back over to the glowering woman. A pool of blood had spilled onto the desk and he found it almost amazing how much blood one little bullet wound was drawing from her—that was not something he had been counting on. "_And_ you've been drinking..."

Rayla narrowed her eyes more. He had been right on all accounts, it _had_ been days since she had seen the sun, and the light painfully scorched her eyes with their blinding brilliance. The chilly breeze that blew through the window tossed at her disarrayed auburn tresses and sent a shiver across her skin. She tried to block it out, not wanting to move and disturb the wound even more, her blood was thin enough to flow freely without help. He had been correct about that too, she had been drinking, quite a bit—but she would never admit it to him.

Reaver retreated into the bathroom for a moment, before returning with a tray in his hands. A health potion glittered on top of the wood, along with a shimmering dagger that looked exceptionally sharp, a bowl of water, and some cloths. He placed the tray down onto the desk and picked up the dagger, walking back around to the queen.

Apprehension glittered in her eyes as she watched him. "Just what do you think you are doing!?" she asked, her tone incredulous and edged with some worry. If he was willing to shoot her, she wouldn't put any other painfully creative ideas past him either.

"Why, I'm going to dig the bullet out, of course," he replied, an unpleasant smile curling at the corners of his lips. "I really doubt your hands are steady enough right now to do so yourself."

"Go to the Void," the queen spat, and nearly literally spat on him too, but reigned herself in. At least it seemed that he wasn't planning on carving his name out on her.

Reaver's eyes narrowed, and the queen had an instant to see the darkness swirling within those blue orbs—it was like a storm had struck up inside them—and she resisted the urge to cringe away from him.

"I can leave it, but I have a feeling that you might just bleed to death right here on this desk in that case," his tone was cold, irritated even. "You know it has to be removed before a potion can heal the damage. Would you _like_ to bleed to death then?" He gave no pause for thought or argument as he deftly cut apart the pants that clung to her leg and without pause, grabbed a cloth, wet it with water, and began to wipe off the blood to inspect the wound.

She was still bleeding quite a bit, but it was enough for him to see and he tightened his grip on the dagger. "Move and it will be much worse, I promise you."

He had extricated a sizeable amount of bullets in his lifetime—mostly those of others, of course. It was often a complicated business requiring exceptionally steady hands and a patient who wouldn't writhe around like a snake and cause more damage than could be mended. As he started to dig out the bullet, he felt a few sharp piercings at his shoulder, but tried to ignore it while focusing on removing the bullet as quickly as possible while the pool of blood on the desk grew in size.

Rayla grit her teeth in pain as she felt the prodding and probing scrapes of the dagger, and her nails dug hard into the shirt covering his shoulders as she tried to keep from flinching away from him. It had been quite a while since she last had to get a bullet dug out from her flesh and she focused all her attention on his shoulders and face in an attempt to forget about what was happening—the feeling of a sharp object digging around in one's flesh was never enjoyable.

She hadn't noticed it before in the darkness, but his skin held a tan to it now. It was as if he had spent a fair amount of time out in the sun and it had tinted his skin with a lovely caramel.

As soon as the bullet was dug free from her flesh and her hand fumbled with grabbing the health potion from the tray, she drank deeply from it. The effects took immediately, knitting the muscle back together, closing the skin and staunching the river of blood as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened though, and she promptly punched him in the face.

Reaver's head snapped back, a grunt of discomfort leaving him. He brought a hand up to his face slowly, noticing that his mouth had a taste of blood to it.

The reprisal slap that he gave her rang through the room and he watched her eyes widen as her hand came up to her cheek.

Rayla held her hand to her cheek, it stung and felt hot as the blood rushed into it. She watched him with wide eyes, trying to recover from the shock. His eyes were dark and slightly narrowed, and a trickle of blood was visible where his lip had split.

"You will _never_ do that again. C_omprendre_?" he seethed at her, spitting on the floor and wiping some of the blood from his lip.

"You can't force me," she replied defiantly.

Reaver met her defiance head on with another sharp slap to the other cheek, before his fingers curled around her throat—strong but oddly gentle, with no pressure added to it—and slammed her down onto her back against the surface of the desk. "Oh I _can_, and if I need to, I _will_. Now if you promise to behave, I'll let go."

Rayla bit her lip, nodding her head the slightest bit in agreement. His fingers quickly uncurled themselves from her neck. She looked up into those ocean blue eyes, into the storm swirling within them. Walter had warned her to be cautious of him, but she could not help wanting to defy him still, but his rough handling of her had certainly been unexpected. She watched as he took a delicate sniff and his brows knitted together for a moment before his expression turned haughty once more.

"Now, seeing that you insist on behaving like a naughty child, you'll just have to be treated like one," he hummed, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth as he pulled her off the desk and tugged her into the bathroom where he began to pour a bath.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly. Both her cheeks stung and caused her face to feel red hot, but her pride stung even worse.

"You're in need of a bath, start undressing," was the curt reply. "A queen should not look like a peasant, nor smell like one."

Rayla glared at the man now busy selecting bottles and sniffing at each of them, before sighing audibly and pulling off the remaining bloodstained shreds of her clothing. This had not been how she had pictured them meeting again—his actions were incredibly hard to predict—and she simply didn't have the strength left in her for a real fight. _But a bath could not hurt, could it?_

"Honestly, _this_ is the selection of scents they give a queen? You should let me send you some from my mansion," he said, taking a deep whiff from another bottle, "Ah! Here we are. _Vanille_. This should suffice nicely. Come, get in."

She stiffly walked over and climbed into the marble bath, the water was hot and it soothed her aching muscles immediately.

Reaver paid her no attention at all as he poured some of the liquid from the crystalline bottle into the water and proceeded to roll up his sleeves.

The scent of vanilla drifted up to her nostrils as it filled the bathroom. A hot bath was perfect for letting one's thoughts take over, but those thoughts were painful and she didn't want them. She could feel warm droplets of water crawling down her cheeks as her hair was wet. She could cry now—she doubted Reaver would know that she was—he would think the tears to be droplets cascading down from her wet, auburn tresses.

Her melancholy was shoved from her mind whilst shock bubbled up in her as her head was pushed under the water. She came up sputtering and coughing for air.

"What th..."

"Hush." The command was almost cold, and she bristled at it, but remained silent. His fingers were soon treading through the tangles of her hair as he lathered it with soap.

She tried not to sigh with contentment after a while. Those fingers which had caused her such stinging pain with their harshness before, were now bringing her such gratification as they softly brushed across her scalp and ran through her hair.

And then her head was under the water again.

She came up once more and coughed the water from her lungs. "Wha..." her words cut off as her head went under yet again.

Rayla bolted upright, spluttering and heavily coughing out water for a third time. "What the hell? If I were a child, I'd have been drowned by now!"

Reaver merely raised an eyebrow at her outburst that mocked his previous statement. "Were you actually a child, I would not be the one doing this. I'd have had some servant do this for me," he replied simply.

"Why didn't you just have someone else put up with me then?" she asked irritably.

"Because you posses certain assets that I tend to admire," he replied, one of his hands grazing up her side to cup a breast momentarily, before continuing to scrub her clean. He was none too gentle about it either, and her skin tingled everywhere he finished washing—had she been a normal woman and not a Hero, her skin would likely have been scrubbed pink and raw.

That Hero in her wanted to hit him again, but the woman in her just wanted to enjoy the attention and the soothing waters that her body had been craving, and so she endured it all until she was scoured from head to toe.

"Time to get out."

Rayla got up onto her feet, the water splashing softly around her as drizzles of it ran down her legs and beaded on her skin. Stepping out of the bath, she allowed him to wrap a towel around her and pat her dry. He silently roughed her hair in another towel in an attempt to dry it too. He never spoke a word as he did all of this, but she knew that his eyes were drinking in every inch of her. She could feel his gaze scorching her skin, making the blood rush to her face once again.

"There now," Reaver hummed softly, carelessly throwing the towel onto the marble tiles. "You're back to being queenly and smelling absolutely scrumptious."

She looked up to find those blue eyes burning with desire. Did he truly desire her? Or was she just one more notch on his belt? He had once told her no, but then, he had left her as well. Worst of all, even through all of that, she had wanted him still.

"I hate you," she said, her voice cracking a bit and she promptly looked away from him. "I hate myself..."

"You don't," he murmured, dipping a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at him again. He leaned down and allowed his lips to brush against hers.

His queen, _his_ treasure, and she was _broken_. What happened in the time he had been gone seemed to have pushed her over a ledge that she believed she wouldn't be able to climb back up onto. He'd had the brief reports from some in the castle once he had arrived. He was both irritated and disgusted. There he had been in Bloodstone, and no woman or man appeared able to pique his attention in the slightest. They bored him and even with considerable effort on his part, he was still displeased with them. Even the Shadow Court had had a bone to pick with him over it. He wanted only _her_. And here she was. _Broken_. He had to make her _feel_ again, had to rekindle the spark she had for life.

His mouth became more violent as their lips clashed together and he crushed her up against his chest, drinking in the taste of her as he parted her lips with his. He could feel her softening against him, submitting to his will as he devoured her mouth with his.

Somewhere in her mind, she knew that this had been what she had wanted. She had missed _this_, she had missed _him_. All her worries, all her sorrow, all the pain she felt, all the hate... was burning away as if set ablaze by the heat that scorched through her veins. Her hands tugged at his shirt, finally, ripping the fabric when it refused to give way.

A groan of need escaped his lips as he felt her hands brush the shirt off from his shoulders, her fingers lightly trailing over the exposed skin, over every curve. Everywhere her fingers went, heat spread through his skin, setting his blood on fire. He broke his lips away from hers to kiss down the side of her neck and along her collarbone as his hands worked at removing his clothes. He kicked his boots off quickly, letting them drop onto the growing pile of discarded clothes, followed by his trousers and underpants.

She gasped as his hands grasped her bottom and he drew her legs around his hips, cleanly picking her up off of the floor. There was no denying his need for her, not with the fire that raged in his eyes, nor with the hard length of him pressing against her.

His teeth scraped playfully against her throat as he carried her over to the bed, dropping her onto the soft sheets and following after, hovering over her. She was so close to him now, so vulnerable to him, and it had been so long since he had felt her touch. He tried to keep control of himself as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her. It was a battle he was going to lose.

Reaver groaned as her lips met with his again, her tongue slipping between his lips to assault his. His hands trailed her body, making her arch and moan her need for him to touch her more, to reclaim her with his hands. Her legs tightened around him and he could feel her wet warmth press against his hardness. It nearly drove all sense of control from him and his mind screamed angrily at him in response as he slightly pulled away from her.

Rayla moaned softly as his hands traced every curve on her body, his fingers blazed a path over her shoulders, breasts, sides, hips, down to her thighs and back up. Her moaning turned into a gasp as he slipped two fingers into her, testing her. She shuddered in his arms, tightening her grip around his shoulders as he began to slowly push them in and out of her while his thumb found the nub between her folds and began stroking it, causing her hips to buck against his hand.

Her blood burned like molten lava with desire, desire that pooled and coiled itself between her thighs. Her breath hitched in her throat as his lips caressed her skin, brushing softly down her throat and chest to encircle a nipple on which he sucked skillfully.

His free hand found its way to her other breast and began kneading it gently as her body writhed underneath him, whimpering and moaning. Paying close attention to her reactions, he curled his fingers while thrusting them in and out of her, deliberately rubbing against that spot inside her that drove her insane with want in his arms. He continued rubbing his thumb against her swollen nub and slamming against that spot inside over and over, until he could feel her tightening around his fingers, a loud moan of pleasure leaving her lips.

He pulled his fingers free from her and delicately licked them clean, a wicked grin spreading across his face while she came down from her high. His cock was throbbing and hard as iron, and his patience had been worn down to the bone. He wanted her desperately, but she'd beg him for it first.

"Reaver...," her voice was soft and breathless.

Those blue eyes steadily stared at her, hazy with the lust that clouded them. "Yes, _amoureux_? Tell me what you want," he purred, his voice husky and low as he watched her chest heaving mesmerizingly with her tense breaths.

"You," the words came out barely a whisper.

_Not good enough._

"No," he murmured, a strained smile gracing his lips. "Tell me _exactly_ what you want, _ma belle_. Do you want me to _fuck_ you? _Then tell me_." He saw her eyes widen slightly at his frank command, but he could also see the need that burned in those misty pools of blue.

"Please, fuck me," she breathed, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but that was nothing compared to the burning between her thighs.

"It would be my _pleasure_," he replied with a purr, placing a soft kiss to both of her reddening cheeks.

She was soaking as he entered her, and a grunt left him just as another lengthy moan spilled from her lips. His mouth found hers once more, as hot and wanting as she was underneath him.

Her fingers tangled themselves in his silky locks just as her legs curled tighter around his waist and her arms around his neck. She kissed back passionately, vying for dominance with his tongue as his mouth ravished hers. The heat inside her grew overwhelming and her body painfully ached for his attention.

"_Please_..."

His hips began a slow, gentle pace at first, allowing her body a moment to fully adjust to his size, but it wasn't long before her hips were arching up against his, inciting him further.

Finesse and gentleness were thrown to the wind as he took her. There would be another time for languid, tender lovemaking, but right now he strived to have her as thoroughly as possible to satiate the burning need that consumed him.

Her moans and cries of pleasure only drove him on, his pace increasing as they escalated in urgency. Her nails were cutting into the skin of his shoulders and back, but he didn't mind, the damage would heal easily enough—the only thing that mattered was her—but he responded in kind, letting his teeth sink into the soft flesh at the juncture between her neck and shoulder before sucking gently. The action drew a loud gasp from her and made her squirm beneath him, but he quickly stilled her trembling form as his lips pressed back against hers. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, causing her lips to part for his tongue, and submitting to his ravenous kisses until they were both gasping for breath.

His hands boldly explored her body, tracing every part of her soft fair skin until they finally slid down to cup her supple behind, holding her in place for his fierce thrusts and encouraging her hips against his. Her hips met his, thrust for thrust, allowing him to burry himself fully, deep inside of her with each savage plunge.

She stared at him from between heavy, long lashes, her breath ragged and her lips parting with every guttural moan his body enticed out of her. A devious smile curled his lips as their eyes met and he thrust deeply into her, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from her. Releasing her hold on one of his shoulders, she allowed her fingers to twist into his damp, tousled locks and force his head back down to hers in an effort to muffle her passionate cries. His lips were soft and hot against hers as they devoured each other with more lustful, deprived kisses.

A groan came from deep inside his throat as he felt the pressure building rapidly between them. She was tight and scalding hot around him, driving the breath from him with her body as much as with her kisses. He angled his thrusts to hit that sensitive spot inside her again, drawing a needy cry from her lips as her hips bucked wildly under his. He could feel her losing herself to the pleasure he provided her, her walls trembling around his rigid member and driving him to his own release.

Her name left his lips in a ragged, hoarse groan, just as she came screaming his while he spent himself inside her. He had to catch himself unsteadily on his arms, hovering above her a while longer as his hips slowed their movement and eventually stilled while he placed a multitude of soft, tiny kisses upon her lips, cheeks, eyelids, neck , shoulders, and chest, before collapsing on his side, next to her.

For a time, they merely lay there, powerless limbs still half entwined, hearts pounding, and chests heaving with shaky breaths. A dull, contented smile had replaced Reaver's usual cocky smirk as he ran a shaky hand through his extremely disheveled hair.

Rayla curled up against his chest, her head resting against his shoulder as his arms enveloped her in his strong embrace. It took her a while to shake off most of the hazy, pleasure-induced daze that clouded her senses. For the first time in weeks, she felt content again—really happy even.

Her fingers traced gently over his skin, following the contours of the lean, hard muscles before tracing slowly over the scar at his right side. It was hardly visible, but it was there without a doubt, yet she couldn't remember if she had seen it before. His hand closed tenderly around hers, covering the scar completely and drawing her attention away from it.

"I've missed you, _ma chère_," he murmured against her neck, softly biting into the skin and drawing a gasp from her. He cradled her shivering form against his, tucking her head underneath his chin. He wasn't fond of the single scar that marred his perfection—he had had the Shadow Court to thank for it—but usually no one ever paid it attention or lived long enough to do so.

"Are you going to leave again?" she asked softly, the warmth of her breath brushing over his bare chest drawing an involuntary shiver from him.

"No," he replied, lazily tracing patterns against her hip. Satisfied and tired as he was, he wasn't planning on going anywhere, any time soon. Holding her close, he wondered if she had truly forgiven their earlier actions—they weren't anything he had been fond of doing, but the dash of unexpected violence had woken her from her inner lethargy well enough. And their vigorous tussle in bed could only have helped.

Rayla yawned softly, snuggling closer in his arms. She had truly missed this, she had become so accustomed to sleeping in his arms before, to wake up beside him with his arms wrapped around and holding her. She was peaceful once more, like she always ended up being once he trapped her against him.

"Don't leave me...," she whispered quietly, her eyes closing as she savored the warmth of him, the feeling of his skin against hers.

Sleep soon claimed her for the night.

* * *

Opening the door to leave, Reaver nearly walked straight into someone. Logan, an inch or so shorter, glared up at him.

"You're back then. What the Void are you doing coming out of my sister's bedroom?" the ex-king asked irritably.

"Why, Logan, so _good_ to see you again. What was I doing? Nothing really, I merely spent the night," Reaver replied, his lips quirking into a grin.

Logan's eyes widened for a second in dawning horror, then narrowed with badly restrained rage. "You! You _slept_ with _my sister_!? You swore you wouldn't touch her!"

"That I did. A long time ago, and she was but a child back then. Far as I recall, I hadn't touched her at all then," he replied with a laugh, dodging the punch Logan threw at him.

"I'll have you hanged for this!" Logan growled.

Reaver just grinned even more, chuckling softly. "You don't have that kind of power anymore, and if you did, your beloved sister might just make good on her promise of shooting you. Oh yes, I heard."

Logan aimed another punch but stopped short at the click of a trigger being cocked. He slowly looked down to see the barrel of Reaver's pistol a mere inch from underneath his chin.

"What is it with you Royals, that you keep trying to do that?" Reaver asked, apparently to no one in particular.

"Reaver? What's going on?"

Hearing the voice of his sister, Logan gave Reaver another dark glare. "Sister, come here."

Rayla soon appeared behind Reaver, pushing her way past to stand next to him, her eyes widening at the scene. "Reaver, stop it. What the Void are you doing?" she asked irately, forcing Reaver's aim away from her brother.

"Your brother seems a little annoyed that I spent the night with you. Apparently, he doesn't approve," Reaver replied with a chuckle.

"What? Oh," Rayla sighed, and turned on her brother, "Brother, there is nothing for you to approve of. I'm not a child anymore, I can be with whomever I wish."

"So, that is your choice then? You allow him to enter your chambers when you wouldn't even allow me, your own brother, to come near you?" Logan asked, his voice dripping with annoyance and disappointment.

"Oh, don't be so jealous, Logan," Reaver said, smirking all the while, "You wouldn't have wanted to see her in the way I found her anyway."

"Reaver, shut up!" Rayla snarled, turning to glare at him.

Reaver simply wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him, earning another displeased growl from her and another threatening glare from her brother.

"Reaver, would you _please_ just go and check on your factories or something," Rayla asked, trying not to mutter under her breath as she squirmed out of his grasp. "It seems that my brother and I need to have a talk. Thank you very much for that, by the way."

Flashing his trademark smirk, and a rather false bow, Reaver made his way down the hall. "I shall see you later then. Tatty-bye!"

"Logan...," Rayla started, only to be cut off as her brother drew her into a tight hug, crushing the air from her lungs.

"Dearest sister, it's so good to see you out of that dark room," Logan murmured, keeping her lean form against his, holding on as though for dear life and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He wouldn't admit it, but he was truly glad that Reaver had been able to coax his stubborn sister back into a sense of normalcy, whether he liked the man or not was of no real consequence.

After Walter's death, he had worried over his sister's sanity and wellbeing. He had thought things would return to normal after her breakdown during the vigil she stood by Walter's body, but after the funeral she appeared even more broken than she had before.

"Come, little sister. Grab a cloak and we shall take a walk in the garden and have some warm breakfast," Logan murmured, letting go of her.

* * *

The air was chilly out in the gardens, and the wind was tugging softly on the pelt of fur that was draped about her shoulders. Her brother walked next to her, his arm twined with hers.

"I'm really glad to see you out of that room, little sister," Logan murmured, "I was worried."

He was looking far ahead of them as they strolled between the contrastingly barren and green plants and the few remaining fallen leaves that painted the ground a fiery hue. The garden was lovely all year-round—while some of the plants grew barren and empty with the change of the seasons to the cold of winter, others were evergreen. The roses were blooming their last before the frosts came and he stopped to pluck one from the bush before picking off the thorns and placing it in her hair.

Rayla regarded him and allowed the fingers of her free hand to cover his. "I'm sorry that I worried you, brother."

They walked for a while, in silence, winding their way along the path of small, brown pebbles that crisscrossed the expanse of garden until they reached a small bench. The spot was lovely—secluded from any prying eyes and ears, and bathed by the weak rays of sun that filtered through the canopy of leaves above the white stone bench.

Logan sat down to the left, patting the space beside him gently until his sister sat down next to him. It had been long years since they had last been together in the garden like they were now. He had missed these tender and peaceful moments between them, but he had had so much to worry about before that there had simply not been time for it. But there was time now, and things he needed to know.

"What is that man to you, sister?" Logan asked, breaking the silence between them, his voice sounding distant as they gazed out at the garden.

Rayla looked over at him with a confused expression, her brows knitting together. This was definitely not a discussion she wanted to have with her brother, especially not when she didn't even quite know the answer to that question. "He's the Royal Advisor, brother."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, his mouth turning down in distaste. "I'm not stupid, sister, so do not take me for a fool. What is he to _you_?"

She sighed audibly, looking away from him again as her fingers fidgeted with the material of her cloak. "Honestly? I don't really know right now, brother."

Reaver had told her nothing of where he had been or what he had gone to do while she had fought her war against the Crawler, and she had not asked. The morning had started out well and she didn't want to ruin it. She had woken up, lazy and rested, in his arms as they stayed curled up between the warm blankets, and she had simply basked in his presence until they had gotten up to prepare for the day. Reaver, himself, didn't seem keen on talking about what had happened either and so had said nothing of his own. But she knew that they both knew that the matter would need to be addressed at some point.

Logan scrutinized his sister in silence for a while. She truly didn't seem to know the answer—she looked sad and lost in thought once more, like a great weight was clinging to her shoulders again. She had appeared rather happy earlier when he had collected her from her room, the Reaver incident notwithstanding.

"Come, dearest sister. Let us get out of this blistering cold now and have that warm breakfast," he said, getting back onto his feet and pulling his sister onto hers.

For now he would not push, but he would certainly need to keep an eye on the situation. If that arrogant dandy thought he was going to simply have his way with _his_ sister, he would have him ended, one way or another, King or not.

* * *

**Author's Note****: Special thanks to AngelaCM and Kiltsaresexy for bearing with my whining over this chapter and telling me that it will be okay. Please Follow, Favorite, and Review, as always. :3**


End file.
